


Minor Characters: Off the Record - Year Two

by gelbes_gilatier



Series: Minor Characters [13]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Administrative Procedures, Aftermath, Apologies, Banter, Bechdel Test Fail, Bechdel Test Pass, Bedside conversations, Boss/Employee Relationship, Chance Meetings, Conflict, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e02 The Intruder, Episode: s02e03 Runner, Episode: s02e04 Duet, Episode: s02e05 Condemned, Episode: s02e06 Trinity, F/M, Family, Female Friendship, Flying, Food, Gen, Genocide, Gratuitous German, Healing, Homecoming, Infection, Late Night Conversations, Leadership, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Medical Conditions, Mission Fic, Reunions, Second Chances, Shooting Guns, Slice of Life, Soldiers, Strangers to Friends, Teaching, Team, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Whump, infirmary, mentoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-08-05 08:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelbes_gilatier/pseuds/gelbes_gilatier
Summary: The team: Maj. Thomas Moore, Cpt. Maureen Reece, SA Matthias Morsberg and SMSgt. Simon DeLisle. The city: Atlantis. The journey: continues.#12 Why Thomas Moore has a really hard time warming up to the Pegasus Galaxy? It keeps throwing stuff likethisat him.#13 Simon DeLisle wakes up to the aftermath of collapsing on a mission and has to face a few unpleasant truths.





	1. Try To See Things My Way

**Author's Note:**

> Rigthy-o, we're back with Season 2 of Stargate Atlantis. I already have a few stories planned (and written) but this time around, I'll tell you right from the start: I accept requests, both episode related and freeform. I can't promise fulfilling all of them because they do have to fit the narrative arc of the season but if I find a way too fit them in, I'll write them. Since I'd like to keep posting chronologically, it would be good to keep track of where I am in the season, episode wise, an maybe post requests for specific episodes a little in advance so that I have time to see if I can fit it in and write it. 
> 
> Right now, we're at about a week after The Siege Pt. III (so a day after _A City Full of Lights_ ) and about nine weeks away from The Intruder. I have two more stories (one written, one planned) for this space of time. The one already written will take place maybe two weeks from now and takes place in Washington D.C., the one planned about two weeks before The Intruder and takes place on the _Daedalus_. If you have any requests taking place after the story in D.C., it would be a good idea to put them in soon. 
> 
> Anyway. Here we go!

** Try To See Things My Way **

 

 _“Turn me inside out and upside down_  
And try to see things my way  
Turn a new page, tear the old one out  
And I’ll try to see things your way.”

_Gomez, “How We Operate”_

 Come to think of it, it’s a good thing Reece left early this morning to go back to Earth with the rest of the officers they promoted here and the people who decided to take other offers rather than continue sticking it out here. Honestly can’t say I’m faulting them for it.

 Anyway, the one good thing about Reece not being here? She can’t keep me from doing what I’m about to do now: barge into Evan Lorne’s new office – more like maintenance closet – and slam the order I found in my inbox just an hour ago on his desk, accompanied by the words, “You take that back.”

 Okay, so I could have been a _little_ less aggressive but seriously, even after sleeping on it, it still makes me _so very pissed_. Which is why his reaction – looking at me mildly annoyed and telling me calmly “Sit down, Tom.” – just serves to irritate me even more. Like… who _does_ that?

 I can’t help giving him a look that’s something between startled and annoyed. And contradict him. Because what the fuck? “What, no? Doesn’t even take a minute to put him back on the infirmary roster and…”

 “Sit. Down.” Shit. That’s an order. And, as I still have to remind myself, I actually have to _obey_ them now when he gives them. I sit down in the chair opposite from his desk. He looks at me over his laptop and past his second monitor, his business face on. Uh-oh. “Now, listen, because I’m only going to say this once: Dr. Morsberg stays.” _Hell_ no. “Out of the infirmary. On your team. Did you get that?”

 Nuh-uh, that’s absolute bullshit. Can’t he _see_ that? “Look, Evan, this is stupid…”

 “I had to fend off a very irate Chief of Medicine _just_ last night.” So? I just offered you a _solution_ to that? Just take this guy off my team and put him back in the infirmary full-time and we’ll all be happier for it. “I am _not_ going to cave in to _either_ of you. Did you _get_ that?”

 No, because Beckett’s the infirmary guy you have known for like six days and I’m your friend whom you have known for something like fifteen _years_? And anyway, there’s a really good question he really should have an answer to as my _commanding officer_ , “Why _me_ , Evan? Seriously, why don’t I get to fucking choose my team mates like everyone else?” Did that sound like whining to you?

 Judging from Lorne’s face, it did to _him_ , and shit, I might have just made a grave mistake. Evan Lorne hates whiners, and I do, too and fuck. “Because you would have rejected every damn medic who was available.”

  _That_ ’s his explanation? I call bullshit. “Oh come…”

 “Just like you rejected every damn replacement back at the SGC, for the sole damn reason that they weren’t Maureen Reece.” That’s… not fair. Because that’s _exactly_ the argument Laura made in that last big fight we had before she died. She accused me of making life miserable for Reece’s replacements because they had one fatal flaw, and that was not being her. She’d been right.

 But fuck, I’d rather _die_ than admit that to anyone out loud. “That’s not true.”

 “It is, and you know it, Tom.” I _hate_ it when he does that. State something like that without sounding smug or authoritative about it, just calm, no-nonsense, matter-of-fact. As if he knows he’s right and doesn’t need to prove it. Because he _is_. “Every fucking one knew it. You’re not going to pull that same shit here, just because none of those medics are Laura.”

 Okay, fine, I’ll play along. For now. _Just_ for now. And I do have another pressing question, “But why him? You could have given me every one of the other medics, and it had to be _him_?”

 He shakes his head and the look on his face says pretty much that the only thing that kept him from throwing me out of his office until now is that he’s trying to be a professional about it. I’ve got a bad feeling that the fact that I’m his _friend_ is currently not working to my advantage. His words damn well confirm that, at least, “You don’t get to throw a hissy fit about getting issued the one medic in this entire city who actually used to know Laura Greenspan, Tom.”

 Well. Fuck. I keep forgetting that but yes, Matthias Morsberg used to know Laura Greenspan. Not as long as I have but from all of the rest of my team, he probably knew her the longest. I know that they got to know each other when Laura went through med school at USU in Bethesda, and I know that they kept in touch after that, at least loosely, and maybe they weren’t best buddies or anything but yes, he used to know her, longer than Dee or Reece knew her. Shit. I think I might have… possibly messed this up a little?

 I take a deep breath and take great care to sound at least marginally contrite when I say, “That’s why you gave him to me, isn’t it?”

 “Yes, Tom.” I’m actually not sure if I sounded apologetic _enough_. Lorne definitely doesn’t look like it. “That’s why I assigned him to you. And if I hear you whine about it _ever_ again, I’m going to damn well fire you. He _stays_ until _I_ say he leaves.”

 Okay now, _that’s_ definitely a case of unlawful assumption of authority. And hey, suddenly all my apologetic feelings are gone, just like that. “ _You_? Last time I checked, there’s still someone _you_ have to answer to.”

 “Sheppard backs me on this one.” That… what? Also, really? _Smug_? That’s the tone he decides to go with?  

 I give him that dead-pan look Reece seems to have perfected here, with a bit of “oh _please_ ” mixed in, too, just for the hell of it. “And you know that how?”

 Now leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest, Lorne continues to look smug. What the everloving fuck? “I asked him to.”

 The _hell_? “You did _what_?”

 He rolls his eyes, and to the uninitiated, he might look mildly irritated. To people who have known him for a _little_ longer he looks like me getting booted out of his office in the next five minutes isn’t actually such an unrealistic option anymore. “I asked my commanding officer to back me on a personnel decision. That’s fairly standard, Tom.”

 Oh come _on_. “I don’t believe this. What _is_ it about this Sheppard guy?” Because seriously, it’s like he can walk on water or something. First Reece tells me that she firmly believes that he can make a field promotion stick that doesn’t have _any_ legal leg to stand on, now Lorne sounds like he drank the Kool-Aid, too in his first _five_ days here…

 “He listens, Tom.” Oh, he _listens_. Well, if _that_ is the case, it’s a whole different ballgame, really. Because honestly, listening is so… “He listens and then makes a decision. Like a good commander should. Also, he really seems to hate paperwork. Two things working very much in my favor.” Yeah. _That_ sounds more like it.

 Also, “I hate you.”

 “You’re welcome.” _Definitely_ just two or three mouthy comments from me away from kicking me out of his office.

 That still isn’t enough to make me shut up. Instead, I hear myself incredulously asking, “For _what_?”

 “Making sure your contingent commander doesn’t get to meddle with the make-up of your team.” As opposed to his XO, or what? “And a new top-shelf combat medic, too.” Oh _fuck_ him. Because he’s damn well right again. I didn’t really want to but I did take the time to throw a look into Morsberg’s personnel jacket and okay, yes, that guy pretty much has the right credentials. Top marks, both academically and in anything military related, the right medical specialties and a staggering ton of cross-training, glowing performance reviews from past superiors, both military and civilian, a few blacked out special ops engagements in his records… Plus, I _have_ already seen him in action and yeah, fuck, he’s good. So good that I would have killed to have him on my team, if there hadn’t been that tiny little detail of _something_ about him rubbing me really, really wrong. As if there’s something about him he’s intentionally holding back on… anyway.

 He really _is_ a top-shelf combat medic. Which is why the only thing I could tell Lorne at this point is, “I _hate_ you.”

 That makes Lorne roll his eyes again but I _think_ some of that annoyance is gone? Huh. “Just be glad we decided not to go after you for asking Reece be your XO when she was slated for a team of her own.”

  _Go after me_? For doing what _every other team leader_ is allowed to? Go after me for simply choosing my new XO _without_ any interference for a change? Fuck him. Also, it’s my turn to be smug now because I know something Command apparently didn’t. “She wouldn’t have said yes, anyway.”

 “We thought so, too.” Wha… _dammit_. “That’s why she wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter.”

 Okay, so I don’t really know this new version of Maureen Reece that well yet but there’s this little birdy that tells me that there’s one thing I _do_ know. “She would have hated you. _Both_ of you.”

 Lorne shrugs and is that the ghost of a _grin_ on his face? “It was Dr. Weir’s idea, actually.”

 So what? “She would have hated _her_ , too.”

 He nods, sagely and I hate it when he does that. Because he’s one of the very few people who can actually pull it off even in their thirties without it looking completely stupid. “That’s why we decided not to go after you.”

 So. I know I might have mentioned once or twice that I know that I’m not exactly destined for a star. I do reasonably well with a combat command of a four man team but I’m hopeless at base politics, paperwork or to be honest anything involving a desk or having to play nice with people with higher paygrades than mine. So, not exactly flag grade material. _Lorne_ , on the other hand, always struck me as someone who had the potential to go places, without even having to compromise himself, even back at the Academy. I just didn’t think I’d actually get to see this “going places” thing in person. I sigh, hoping it didn’t sound too defeated, “You’re pretty scary when you’re doing this XO thing.”

 “Thank you.” _Definitely_ smug now. At least that tells me he’s actually human.

 I roll my eyes, though, and rectify something. “It wasn’t meant as a _compliment_.”

 He just shrugs again and is now veering into “insufferable”. “I know.” Wow, this guy learned how to take a page out of _my_ book.

 So, as not to be redundant, but really, it can’t be said often enough, “I really, really hate you.”

 He doesn’t look like he believes me, just rolls his eyes and opens his laptop, muttering slightly exasperated, “As much as I’d like to hear you say that for another ten times, I gotta get back to work but you can continue to give me shit later at lunch.”

 Oh. Huh. I think that was an invitation? I grin. “With pleasure. Two hours.”

 Now he _finally_ lets that matter-of-fact sure of himself XO mask slide of for a short moment, burying his face in his hands, mumbling “Better make that three, I got a bad feeling I’ll get some more flak from various corners of this city soon.”

 Well, “Good.”

 I get a dead-pan look now and an unmistakable order, “Get out of my office, Tom.”

 Okay, then. Happy to. I get up, giving him a two-finger salute, accompanied by the words, “Yes, sir,” and followed by me leaving the office. And then, promptly, just because I’m an asshole like that, opening his office door again and sticking my head in it, calling, “Remember, two hours!”

 He does _exactly_ what I expected him to do, and that’s, without even looking up from his laptop, flipping me the bird and telling me, in a no-nonsense tone, “Fuck _off_ , Tom.”

 I don’t answer him, just finally leave his office and find myself grinning because thank _God_. I was honestly getting afraid that the brassification of Evan Lorne has already started but hey, throwing me out of his office with profanity gives me hope that it hasn’t happened yet. Don’t get me wrong, I think he’ll make a great XO, and he’ll be great at all other commands he’ll no doubt get after this one but okay, yes, I admit it: I got a feeling I need at least a little more time to get used to the fact that the guy I got into a _lot_ of shit with at the Academy and at flight school is now my superior and will not cut me any slack, just because I’m his buddy. I got a bad feeling he might actually go harder on me than on the other team commanders, exactly _because_ I’m his buddy, so as not to look like he’s playing favorites. He’s that kind of almost disgustingly decent, professional guy.

 Still, that’ll probably be even harder to get used to than learning to accept that I’m not going to get rid of my new medic in the foreseeable future. But at least now I’ve got something to do for the next two hours, and yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. _Someone_ will have to make sure both my sergeant and my medic will be in peak battle readiness when Reece and the command crew are back with a new contingent. Those torture plans err training routines don’t write themselves, and I think I know _exactly_ how I’ll go about it…

  _Damn_ , it’s good to be back in the game. Even with a medic I can’t stand. Could be worse, right?


	2. Staring Out Into Another World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go and meet my sister, Captain, Evan Lorne said to Maureen Reece. Say hello from me, he said. Move in with her for the next five weeks, _wasn't_ what he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't wait. I've been sitting on this for over a year, and I'm just so glad I finally got started with this new one-shot collection that I just want to get it out there. So, two stories in one day \o/
> 
> Anyway, I was a little off in my last A/N. This takes place one week after _Try to See Things My Way_ , not two. The rest is correct, and yes, this takes place in Washington D.C. So, five weeks to go until The Intruder and we'll see if I'll find some more stories for that space of time.

**­Staring Out Into Another World**

_“Moving slowly into the setting sun_  
Keeping secrets away from everyone  
Staring out into another world  
Tide is rising, but time is standing still  
  
Ocean city girl  
Is smiling  
Ocean city girl  
Is flying.”   


_Ivy, “Ocean City Girl”_

 How do you know you’ve been away from Big Corps for too long? You forget just _how_ annoying the khakis are. Oh, sorry, service dress alpha, of course. Either way, both Atlantis _and_ SGC BDUs and even Utilities are a lot more comfortable than the stuff they make us wear whenever it’s about to get formal. I hate the shirt and the tie and the skirt – of _course_ it had to be the skirt – and oh _God_ do I hate the tights. They’re worse than the shoes and trust me, those are bad, too. I’ve been back on Earth for a week and I’m already wishing myself back to BDUs, combat boots and flak vests.

 So yeah, that’s not _all_ due to having to wear service dress for an ungodly amount of time – anything above ten minutes in service dress is ungodly – it’s also due to being made accomplice to the crucifying of the man who kept most of the Expedition alive for the last year. They want to nail Sheppard to the wall for Sumner’s death, and they want us to help them. I’ll be damned if I let them.

 Right now, though, I’ll be content with nailing Evan Lorne to a fucking wall. Guilting me into giving his sister and her USAF field grade husband a call, seriously. I can’t believe it actually _worked_. So I should probably nail _myself_ to a fucking wall as… whatever. Evan Lorne and my inability to say no to all field grades whose name isn’t Thomas Moore are the reason why I’m traipsing around Falls Church in search of the home of a woman I have met exactly _once_ , in _fucking khakis_.

 “Hey, if you’re going to D.C., just give my sister a call. Say hello from me, huh,” my _ass_. I can’t believe I’m still that gullible young company grade. Because here I am, tripping around Falls Church, Virginia, on fucking heels because I didn’t want to get back to Atlantis to tell Major Lorne I didn’t have time to “say hello from him” to his fucking sister. And because I just couldn’t, for the life of me, say no to Anna Williamson telling me to “come around” when I did try to call her, deliver Major Lorne’s message and be done with it. Goddammit, where _is_ that fucking house? Ten more minutes in these shoes and I’m going to… oh thank _God_.

 I throw another look at the slip of paper with the address Major Lorne gave me before I went through the gate back to Earth – not going to say “back home” because let’s be honest, home is somewhere entirely else now – and yep, that must be it. Whoa, _nice_ house, especially for a junior field grade.

 Okay, then again, if I remember it correctly, Anna Williamson holds a PhD in sociology and teaches at GWU so yeah, two salaries and… oh God, I really need to stop being a judgmental asshole. And I need to get over myself and just knock on that door. So I take a deep breath, needlessly adjust the garrison cap on my head and walk up the path across the house towards the porch. Good thing I called before coming here so at least I know that someone’s at home and I didn’t make the trip from the Pentagon out to Arlington in vain. Okay, you can do that. Just a quick hello and then you’re gone. Piece of cake. I take another deep breath and ring the bell.

 For a moment, nothing happens but then I can hear… what is that? Children’s feet? And… “Felix, not so fast! Felix, god… _What_ did mommy tell… Felix!” from behind the door and… “Holy Mother of… Hi!” What the… For a moment, the entire scenery kind of silences me and I need a second or two to take it all in. In front of me there are… three people. Yeah, three people.

 One adult – Dr. Anna Williamson, I presume – and two kids, apparently the nephews Major Lorne mentioned at some point. One is on her hips, the other on the ground, staring up at me with a grin and traces of something red and probably sticky all over his face. I blink. “Oh God, I’m sorry for the welcome committee. We were just trying to bake cookies and yeah, take it from me, filling them with jam is a really bad idea when you have a four-year-old running loose in the house.” I blink again. I uh didn’t expect _that_? “Anyway, your name’s Maureen, right? I’d shake your hand but did I mention the jam? Come on in, you look like you had a really long day.”

 I uh did, which is probably why I take off the garrison cap and follow her and the toddler – Felix? – inside. The trio leads me through a mudroom, hall or whatever you want to call it into a living room looking like the poster version for an academically educated couple with very young kids – tasteful furniture and decoration, some plants, and a whole lot of assorted toys everywhere but in their designated spots – and I can’t help but liking it. Following them further into the kitchen, I also spot a couple pictures in frames on a sideboard. Can’t make out most of them but the one I just passed closest… oh hey, was one of the guys in the picture a very, _very_ young Major?

 For just a moment, I’m tempted to stop and take a closer look, just to see what his probably Academy age self looked like but then Dr. Williamson and her entourage have reached the kitchen and it’s probably better if I follow them. I’m really just here for an as short as possible courtesy visit and then it’s off to the first book store I can find. I haven’t been able to buy a book in over year, just bear with me, okay.

 Anyway, courtesy visit and… holy shit, remind me never to bake cookies with toddlers. It looks like a fucking _grenade_ exploded in the kitchen that vaguely looks like it’s every chef’s dream when it’s not been the site of whatever happened in here.

 “Yeah, uh, I know.” Huh? Oh, right, Dr. Williamson. I blink again and look at her and judging from the slightly embarrassed look on her face, I must be looking pretty much stunned. “Sorry about the chaos. It’s just Felix gets so fussy when Charlie’s gone and…” Great, now I feel like a judgmental asshole again. But really, I didn’t mean it like that.

 I clear my throat, trying my best to make the probably unfavorable impression I just must have left go away. “Don’t worry, ma’am, I was just… it’s just been a long day is all.”

 She nods and gives me a grin. “Yeah, don’t I know about _that_. And it’s Anna.”

 Huh? “Ma’am?”

 “Anna. That’s my name. Remember how I told you so when we met for the first time?” I do, actually. It was in early January 2004, when she’d been in The Springs for some conference or other and since both the Major and Laura were friends with her, we somehow ended up having dinner with her and Major Lorne at the Major’s house. I’d had to excuse myself pretty early that night because I’d had to be back for night duty at the SGC and to be honest, I was kind of glad about that. I don’t think there have been many occasions where I felt more as an outsider than that evening.

 Not that I usually _mind_ being an outsider but… anyway. “I don’t want to seem disrespectful, ma’am. You’re Major Lorne’s sister, and he’s in my chain of command and I just think it’s prudent…”

 “Oh, pish.” Really? That’s all you have to… “Felix, stop eating dough off the floor. Yes, that’s better, sweetie.” Right. Uh. What… “Just because my brother gets to boss you around doesn’t mean you have to give _me_ that whole Marine spiel.” That might be the case but “that Marine spiel” is pretty helpful when you’re in the house of someone whom you have met exactly _once_ , is covered in spots of red jelly and happens to be the sister of your new commanding officer. Gets you through the whole awkwardness of it just fine. And, hopefully, also out of said house in… “Anyway, how are you?”

 Ah, fuck. Couldn’t she at least have asked about her brother first? We’d get this over with a lot faster that way. I clear my throat and take care not to bump into everything. Don’t need to add a dry cleaning bill for the fucking alphas on top of everything. “I’m… fine, ma’am, thanks for asking.”

 I expect her to correct me yet again but it seems she has accepted my mode of trying to keep people off my back for the moment. Or maybe trying to put her eldest into a high chair with only a minimum of squiggling did the trick. “Good to know. Even got promoted, huh? Congratulations.”

 “Thank you, ma’am, I…”

 “Felix, _no_. Goddammit.” Whoa, can’t believe that just happened. A military wife that didn’t even bother masking the swear word in front of her toddler. I wish I could hate her or at least find her dull but man, I’m warming up fast to that woman. Damn, damn, damn. “My heartfelt and honest recommendation? Don’t have kids if you value a quiet life and a clean kitchen.” Right. Will uh take a note of that? “Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong but you are one fast-track Marine, aren’t you?”

 Huh? Oh, right, that whole promotion thing. Can’t very well tell her that I got my first promotion _way_ below the zone because a criminal organization wanted to plant me inside the SGC and the second because my CO wanted to have as many of his people as possible in command during an attempt of an alien invasion. On another planet. In another galaxy. I clear my throat. “I just got lucky, I guess.”

 “Huh,” she makes and frowns, “from what Tom told me, _luck_ had nothing to do with the speed of your promotions.” What the _hell_? I swear to God, if he told her I only got promoted because some field officer or other probably just liked to bang little red-headed…

 I try not to growl. “Ma’am, whatever he told you, I can assure you he wasn’t…”

 “I think what he said was that you’re “one hell of a Marine” and that he was an idiot to have let you go.” Huh?

 For a moment, I fail to produce words and even after the initial shock, I can’t get past a kinda dumb sounding, “…he said that?”

 She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “Not in those _exact_ words – although he did say “one hell of a Marine”, swear to God – but I have known that guy for over ten years. He can still go on and try to fool my husband and my brother but honestly, he’s just as easy to read as a freshman sociology textbook.”

 Really? I had never noticed that.

 Okay, no, that’s not true, actually. When you know what clues to look for, the Major really is pretty easy to read. I just had a hard time figuring out all those clues. I want to tell her something to that effect but just for a moment, her face has taken on a weird look of thoughtfulness and there’s a strange note of something I can’t really decipher in her voice when she adds, “You know, I think he really missed you.”

 “I… uh…” And that’s all I can get out before I get to say something really dumb and/or embarrassing because Toby Williamson has just managed to pull the flour container off the kitchen island after making continuous grabs for it from his highchair. I have to say, I do feel like I owe him for that, even if he _did_ just settle me with that damn dry cleaning bill after all.

 Dr. Williamson, for her part, bends down to pick it up, mumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “fuck” over and over and makes a heroic attempt at sweeping up at least the worst of it. She gives it up after five minutes of getting exactly nowhere. For a moment, just a tiny moment, she looks very much like a woman done with just about _everything_ , ready to quit everything and run away with the nearest circus.

 Then she seems to register that at least half of my khaki coat and most of the damn skirt look more like Navy summer whites than Marine service dress alpha components and drags a flour-coated hand through her dark blonde hair, smudging the stuff around even more. She looks very apologetic when she says, “God, I’m really sorry about that flour thing. How long are you staying?”

 Um. Is that already considered OPSEC? Oh what the hell, if anyone at Homeworld Security wants to throw me out for _that_ , they’re even more stupid than that whole crucifying Sheppard thing let’s me assume already. “Five weeks, ma’am.”

 “Okay, you know what?” Mh, nope? “I’m taking up the dry cleaning bill for that one, and yes, resistance is futile.” Wha… no! She can’t just tell me she’s paying for my dry-cleaning, not just like that. This whole thing is awkward enough without her proving yet _again_ that she’s a decent human being. This is not what I meant with “a short courtesy visit to my CO’s sister”, for Heaven’s sake. “Also, where are you staying, anyway?”

 Huh, what? That question throws me off enough for me to not even blink and answer quick as a shot, “Marine Barracks, ma’am.”

 “Yeah, uh, no.” Um. What?

 Also, what’s with the look of genuine disgust on her face? “Excuse me, ma’am?” I honestly have no idea what she even meant by that and…

 “No friend of mine is staying at _Marine Barracks_.” Which is okay since we aren’t friends and… “Come to think of it, I wouldn’t even let a complete stranger stay there.” Well, that’s okay, too, because _obviously_ we aren’t complete strangers to each other, either. Perfect. “And stop with the ma’am, seriously. Every time you say that, it’s like my mother-in-law is standing behind me.”

 From the way she sounded, her mother-in-law standing behind her is something to be generally avoided. So apparently, keeping on calling her “ma’am” actually _is_ being disrespectful to her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I’m sorry, it’s just that Marines are wired a certain way and…”

 “I know, I know. Wrote my PhD thesis on a comparison of warrior culture in the four services and all that.” She… did? Because I think I read that for my bachelor thesis. Now that I think about it… I finally realize why the name Dr. Anna Williamson seemed to ring a bell when I met her for the first time over a year ago. “Anyway, don’t try to distract me. You are _not_ going to stay at Marine Barracks, and that’s final.”

 Hey! Just because your brother can boss me around it doesn’t mean _you_ can, too! “With all due respect, _ma’am_ , but where else do you suggest I stay?”

 Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have added that special bit of irritation, after all. I probably should… oh, she’s _grinning_. Why is she grinning? And why does she look exactly like Major Lorne whenever he found another way to piss off the Major? “Easy. Here, of course.”

 Of course.

  _Of course_?

 Like hell I’m staying in a house of someone I have met exactly once – and her husband whom I have met exactly _never_ – holy shit. “No. I mean, thank you for the offer but I couldn’t possibly impose myself…”

 “You’re not. Imposing yourself on anyone, I mean. You’re a friend of Tom’s and of Evan’s and a friend of… Well, that makes you a friend of mine.” Yeah, well, that still leaves her husband, the yet to be met Major Williamson. A guy I only know from Academy anecdotes that seem to suggest that he’s rather opposed to spontaneously inviting over a friend’s subordinates. For _five weeks_. “Charlie’s away for the next two weeks, anyway and we have a guest room the boys can’t get into and that’s better than whatever they gave you at Marine Barracks. _Everything_ is better than Marine Barracks.”

 Oh come _on_. It’s not _that_ bad? So yeah, it’s utilitarian but then again, we’re _Marines_. Utilitarian is _luxury_ to us. Okay, so there’s this guy somewhere in the building who gets up at the asscrack of dawn to run around the building for at least thirty minutes shouting ugly cadences all through it, _every fucking day_. And that apparently brand new female lieutenant to my right who spends twenty minutes in the shower each morning _and_ evening singing on the top of her voice obviously – wrongly – convinced that she’s going to win next season’s American Idol. And that…

 “Come on, I know you want it. I can _see_ you do.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck shit goddammit. Apparently, she saw right through me. Because now that I think about it, there really _are_ a lot better options to spending five weeks of alternatingly being squeezed for information that could be used against the guy who’s the only reason that over a hundred people are still alive, poring over the really big stash of personnel records said guy handed you with the words, “I trust you to tell the basket cases and jackasses from people we can actually use, Captain. Do me a favor and make a pre-selection before we get to the fun part?” and preparing myself for the damn promotion board I thought I didn’t have to confront in maybe the next five years or so. “Alright, that settles it. Dust off yourself, Marine, we’re going on a ride.”

 “We… we’re _what_?” If she keeps doing that, I _will_ have to tell her that I am only obligated to listen to her brother, not her. I’d rather not, though. Anna Williamson strikes me as a person who doesn’t take no for an answer more with every minute.

 “Getting your stuff from Marine Barracks. You can’t very well sleep here and keep your gear there.” See, in itself, that is pretty sound logic.

 Unfortunately, there are a few more things to consider. Things like OPSEC. And personnel data security. That kind of thing, you know. “Look, I get that you’re just trying to be nice here, and I appreciate that. But I’ve got sensitive material among my stuff that can’t leave the Marine Barracks premises and I’d rather not leave it alone there for an extended amount of time, either. I just really…”

 “We’ll find a solution for that.” Man, I wish I had that woman’s confidence. I’m pretty sure my life would be about ten times easier if I did.

 I clear my throat. “Actually, the best solution would be if I stayed…”

 “Hey, I get that. I don’t know if the two Wonder Boys you’ve been serving with told you that but Charlie works in Personnel in the DOD.” Actually, they didn’t. Not in those exact words, anyway. More along the lines of “I know this paper pusher guy at the Pentagon…” but I have a feeling it would be a bad idea to repeat that to the paper pusher’s wife. “I _know_ about OPSEC and sensitive material. And I’m telling you: we’ll find you a solution that’ll be a _lot_ better than staying at Marine Barracks. Just, you know, go ahead and dust off yourself while I’ll go and make a few calls.”

 That woman is really tenacious if nothing else. Gotta admire her for that, at least. Still, “What kind of calls?”

 She looks like she just _almost_ rolled her eyes. “The kind that will let you move out of Marine Barracks without compromising your sensitive material.”

 You know, I still haven’t told her I _want_ to move out. Which I am about to tell her when it hits me. This isn’t just about being ordered around by a woman I barely know. It’s not even about not being asked about my preference.

 It’s about the fact that this eerily reminds me of how Laura Greenspan once convinced me to move in with her. Which, in turn, just served to sharply remind me of the fact that _Laura Greenspan is dead_. I’ve been back on Earth for a week and only now it fully registers that Laura’s not waiting for me to call her in The Springs, that she’s not just on an off-world mission bound to return in a few days, that the apartment we used to share has been long let to someone else. That she’s lying only about eleven miles away from here, beneath green grass and a white headstone with a Star of David and some numbers on it. I… “Hey, you okay?”

 At the sound of the voice of the woman who suddenly reminds me so fiercely of Laura that for a moment I just want to get the hell out of here and never come back, snaps me out of that particular rabbit hole and I look up and see a wholly different side of her. No more not taking no for an answer bad-assery, just a woman concerned for a friend, and suddenly I realize that “say hello to my sister from me” probably wasn’t the only reason why Major Lorne wanted me to contact Dr. Williamson. To be honest, I’m not even sure it actually was a reason at all instead of just an excuse to get me away from Marine Barracks and Homeworld Security for at least a couple hours. Seems I grossly underestimated just _how_ well Major Lorne got to know me in the year we both served at the SGC. That’s kinda scary, actually.

 I try to give her a brave smile. “Yeah, I’m good. I just…” realized the new guy in my chain of command is way sneakier in caring for his subordinates than even Sheppard but other than that, I’m fine enough to put up a front, “You know what? You’re right, there are a lot better places to spend five weeks in D.C. than Marine Barracks.”

 At that, she blinks for a moment – now look at that, even Anna Williamson can be thrown off-guard – and then a slow grin spreads across her face. “Damn straight I’m right. So you want to go on that ride or not?”

 I _think_ I’m blushing but why I have no idea. I resist rolling my eyes at myself. “As you said, I can’t very well sleep here and keep my gear at the Barracks.”

 She grins. “There’s a good Marine. I knew you were smart when I met you for the first time.” I consider telling her where she can put that patronizing “good Marine” crap but then again, that woman just opened her house to a quasi stranger, just because she thinks that the Major’s and her brother’s judgment in me is enough credential that I’m not going to rob her blind or anything like that. So I just follow her when she shows me the way to the nearest bathroom to get rid of the worst of the flour explosion.

 When I’m at least semi-presentable again, I let her usher me to her car and promptly get handed a surprisingly docile two-year-old – Toby, apparently – while she straps Felix in his car seat. In the end, it takes another ten or so minutes until she backs out of the driveway, while asking me, “So, hey, have you ever been to D.C. before?”

 I _know_ I should probably give her something non-committal if I want to keep her off my back for the rest of my stay but then again, my subconscious seems to have different ideas because before I can even think of it, the words, “No, never,” are out of my mouth.

 She smiles, not looking at me and instead paying all her attention on the traffic. Even after a year of not driving with Laura Greenspan, my first instinct was to brace myself in my seat but for all accounts, Anna Williamson seems to be the most considerate driver I ever encountered and something in that gives me great relief, and it’s not just not having to fear for my life at every twist and turn. “Good. It’s been ages since I had someone to show around. That is, if you aren’t too busy with whatever you’re here for?”

 Well, then. Dr. Williamson staying off my back is probably off the table now but somehow, I have a feeling that there are worse things. For the first time ever since coming back to Earth, I can feel my mouth twist into a tiny smile. “I can always make the time to get some sightseeing done.”

 “Fair enough,” she says and smiles again. “So anyway… how’s my idiot of a brother been in that super secret new base of yours? And how’s Tom doing? Are they annoying the crap out of you already?”

 Right. I _think_ I just found my first friend in Washington, D.C. and unfortunately, she happens to be related to one of my commanding officers and an old friend of the other one. Then again, Major Lorne practically _ordered_ me to go and see her, so I guess I just need to bite that bullet. Actually, me and them, both. I take a deep, somewhat resigned breath. “Well, see, I wouldn’t call it “annoying” per _se_ …”


	3. Just Working For The Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Maureen Reece wanted was to get the fuck out of Homeworld Security without getting waylaid by two members of the Atlantis command staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a silly little filler I wrote at the express request of one of my ff.net readers who asked for Maureen talking to Elizabeth and John about being offered her own team, and then this happened. It's more or less just a bit of slice of life in the bowels of Homeworld Security, but I hope you all like it. Any and all mistakes, I blame on _yet another headcold_ >( Also, _why_ is it so hard to find out just _how_ the promotion board for officers works? Everywhere I looked, I only ever found stuff for NCOs. So I had to wing it, and really hope I didn't fully screw it up.
> 
> Timeline wise, we're still in the space between The Siege Part III and The Intruder, three weeks in, so three more weeks for Maureen on Earth. She's not... happy.

**Just Working For The Man**

_“I’m just trying to get by_  
Is it all in my head?  
Is it all in my head  
Could everything be so right without me knowing?  
I’m just working for the man  
I’m just trying to lend a hand.”   


_Shawn Mullins, “All In My Head”_

 Wow. I really didn’t remember _how_ much I hate Big Corps bureaucracy, so I’ll certainly be eternally grateful to the promotion board for reminding me just how _awful_ red tape outside of Atlantis can get. I thought having to wear the khakis for everything work related was the worst thing about Big Corps but boy, was I wrong about that.

 I honestly don’t even care whether they’ll make Sheppard’s promotions stick in the end, I’m just _so damn glad_ that this promotion board shit is over. At least Cuevas was in town before leaving for The Springs to take over one of the gate room security companies at the SGC or I probably would have failed the damn thing. In between the mandatory fun of formal dinners and rubbing elbows with Homeworld Security brass and working through the files Sheppard gave me and obsessing about my appearance on the inquiry board where they’ve been trying to crucify Sheppard for the last three weeks and catching up on my academic reading, cramming for the damn promotion board would have been a bitch if I’d had to do it alone.

 This way, Cuevas and I at least were partners in suffering. I swear to God, if I ever have to soak up _all_ the Corps grooming regulations for female Marines in just one night or have to walk through Marine Corps doctrine on close-quarters fighting in two hours or “my command philosophy” in just any time at all, I _will_ have to hurt someone. Preferably one of those Buzz Cut Colonels on that board who have never even seen a Stargate but scored nice postings at Homeworld Security through some “good friend from Annapolis” or other.

 Fuck, I really… “Captain Reece. I didn’t know you had an appointment here today?”

 Oh. Oh, damn. Dr. Weir. Must look dignified and totally captain-like. I resist the temptation to straighten my jacket and instead give her a little smile that looks probably much too tight to convey a totally easy and friendly mood on my part. “Promotion board, ma’am.”

 Recognition dawns on her face. “Oh, right, your hearing was today, wasn’t it?”

 I nod, “Yes, ma’am,” totally hoping she _won’t_ ask me how it went.

 She smiles, looking a lot more genuine than what I just produced. “How did it go?” Yeah, there goes that hope.

 Saying “I hate Buzz Cut Colonels, and I think it showed and I might just have ruined my _way_ below-the-zone promotion” is probably not a good idea, right? Right. “I… honestly have no idea, ma’am.”

 She doesn’t look very convinced. “Well, I’m sure you aced it.” For someone who did a bang-up job keeping an entire expedition’s spirits up through a year of near death experiences every second week, Dr. Elizabeth Weir sure is really abysmal at cheering up individuals. In this case: me. I am, of course, not telling her that. I… “I can see you don’t believe me and have probably dismissed that as meaningless phrases from the brass, and I can’t even admonish you.”

 Um. “I, uh…”

 “Don’t worry, you can be honest with me, Captain. I’m sturdier than I look.” Did she just… give me something akin to a mischievous smile?

 I clear my throat. “Ma’am, honestly, I don’t think…”

 “Are you harassing my company grades, Elizabeth?” Oh, good, John Sheppard decided to join the conversation. Should have seen that one coming, considering that he had to be here for yet another briefing. Or maybe another board hearing, I’m not even sure.

 Dr. Weir turns around and I’m _almost_ sure she made a face at him. “Merely inquiring how Captain Reece’s promotion board hearing went.”

 Recognition dawns on Sheppard’s face. Oh no. “Oh, right, that was today, wasn’t it? Don’t tell me, Reece… you _crushed_ it, didn’t you?”

 Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. “To be completely honest, sir, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

 That makes him snort. “Captain, you survived an entire _year_ in Atlantis, as a lieutenant in the Marine Corps. That alone should have convinced them to give you the damn bars already.”

 Everyone keeps saying that, and I wish they wouldn’t. Because lieutenants, both Marines and Air Force, really did have the highest casualty rate in Atlantis and some of those people were my _friends_. But yeah, no, that’s not something you tell your commanding officer during a chance meeting deep in the bowels of Homeworld Security. Especially when you have good reason to believe that he’s probably the one taking every death on his watch the hardest of all of us.

 I take a deep breath. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir. Ma’am. I just really have no idea how the entire thing went down.”

 Sheppard nods. And then actually goes to give me a hardy slap on the back. “You’ll see, Captain, it’ll be fine. You did good out there.” I. Uh. Um. “Your record speaks for itself, and you’ve got a freakishly good memory. You aced that thing, trust me.”

 Good _God_. Judging from the barely veiled amusement on both their faces and the way my face just heated up, I must be blushing really, really hard right now. Crap. “I uh… thank you, sir. It’s, um…”

 “You realize that we would have given you command of your own team if there hadn’t been a last minute request to serve as XO for one of the new team leaders, right?” Oh, good, and now Dr. Weir, too.

 I _try_ not to roll my eyes, mostly successful. “Yes, ma’am.” She looks at me with a kind of “…and?” look and I have to mobilize all my mental resources not to sigh with an annoyed undertone. “I realize that and I again thank you for the vote of confidence, ma’am, but with all due respect, that would have been a,” really dumb, “premature decision.”

 She raises her eyebrows. “Premature?”

 “Captain thinks she’s not ready for command yet, Elizabeth.” Anyone else, I would have been pissed if they’d made an assumption like that about me, no matter how true it was. But Sheppard just says it quietly, explaining it to Dr. Weir in a tone suggesting she should have known that and not asked and that’s why everyone of us thinks John Sheppard can walk on water. He knows us. No matter how low the rank, no matter how little he interacted with us, no matter how insignificant our contribution to the success of the expedition was, he _knows_ us.

 Weir looks at me, inquisitively. I do clear my throat, after all. “Major Sheppard is correct, ma’am.”

 There’s a moment of silence, _almost_ awkward and it’s Sheppard breaking it, saying, “You know, Captain, if you change your mind, you just come to us.” Or whoever else is going to lead the expedition once Homeworld Security and the IOA are finished with the command team, is what he doesn’t say and every one of us here hears.

 I am a little surprised that he’d say that so openly, basically telling me to break the chain of command and go straight to the top, bypassing my team leader, which is, in the world of the SGC, a _really_ big no-no. I’d never expected an offer like that and I consider simply thanking him for it and then never talk about it again, hoping whoever is in command of Atlantis when we get back will leave me alone with that whole combat command stuff but yeah, I think I owe it to the Major to put something right, right from the start. I clear my throat, _again_. “Thank you for the offer, sir. As soon as I feel ready for a combat command of my own, I will reconsider and go through the channels SOP describes for such cases.”

 For a moment, _both_ of them look at me like they are seriously consider telling me to stuff my bullshit where it’s dark and that neither of them tolerate that kind of ungratefulness – honestly, that was just one step away from outright telling them that I _sure as hell_ wouldn’t ever go behind my team leader’s back and that they can go fuck themselves if they ever thought there was even a smidgen of a chance I might do something like that – but then, inexplicably, Sheppard gives me an amused snort and says, “Damn, Reece, sometimes I really forget that you can be _such_ a Marine.” What the… “And yeah, sorry for implying you’d go behind your team leader’s back. Sure hope he knows what he’s got in you.”

 I can’t help giving him and Dr. Weir a little half-grin. “Yeah. Me, too, sir.”

 At that he gives me a weirdly assessing look – at this point, Dr. Weir oddly looks like she’s using this as some kind of hands-on anthropologic study opportunity, and can you please not, ma’am? – and then says, “Crap, I nearly overlooked that when I made that last minute change to your personnel jackets. You and Moore have a history, don’t you?”

 Can this be over, please? And I sure hope I’m not blushing as bad as the heat in my cheek suggests. Because that would be really, _really_ bad. “Yes, sir. Major Moore was my team leader at the SGC.”

 There is a _ton_ of fucking subtext here, and I’m one-hundred percent sure that Sheppard hasn’t forgotten our little conversation in the jumper when he tried to teach me how to fly that thing and I just _bet_ that Dr. Weir isn’t dumb, either and must at least find it somewhat weird that I’d leave a secure and much coveted spot on an off-world team at the SGC for a dangerous trip into an unknown galaxy, not knowing whether we would ever be able to get back to Earth and then jump at the first chance I get to work with the guys I left behind, instead of making the much bigger and much more prestigious transition to leading my own team.

 In the end, it’s Weir who breaks the silence. “Well,” she says and gives me a smile that looks a little too tight to be entirely friendly, “I hope that he’ll appreciate what you have to teach him as his new XO.”

 The unspoken addendum, of course, being, that if he doesn’t, I know where to knock. Oh, hell. “He will, ma’am. He’s a good team leader and an outstanding officer,” did Sheppard just _snort_? “Serving as his XO will be very beneficial to my professional development and to the success of the expedition, I’m sure of that.” And there is _no_ reason for you to look like you are struggling to hold back howling with laughter, sir.

 I also can’t believe Sheppard managed to read the Major’s personnel record and assess it before we went to Earth. And I just bet he did that with _every_ new arrival slated to stay who’s supposed to be under his jurisdiction. Damn, does that guy _ever_ sleep?

 “Very well, Captain, I trust your judgement.” Wow. That’s actually the biggest praise I ever received from anyone on the command team, and that it comes from Dr. Elizabeth Weir nearly makes me faint. I’m not kidding, hearing _her_ say that she “trusts my judgement”, knowing that this isn’t a phrase she uses carelessly. It’s, uh… “Speaking of which, I was _impressed_ with the how fast you worked through the records Major Sheppard assigned to you for pre-screening.”

 Oh, yeah, those. That wasn’t actually so hard. Most of them _were_ basket cases one way or the other, or simply better suited to either the SGC or tasks in a Big Corps environment and since I didn’t have to compile the _actual_ shortlist, I could just forward those I wasn’t sure about with a little mark and then do a fire and forget in Sheppard’s direction. I forego the shrug, as that would _probably_ look a little _too_ deliberate. “Thank you, ma’am. Glad I could help.”

 She smiles. “Well, if you’d like, I’m certain we could find…”

 “Captain’s here for a vacation, Elizabeth. Let her have some R&R, okay?” The funny thing is that it _sounds_ as if he was admonishing Dr. Weir. When, in actuality, he was telling _me_ in no uncertain terms to fucking stop working and have a damn time-out to get my head unscrewed before going back to Atlantis. That was actually some masterful communication. I’m impressed.

 Dr. Weir seems to have picked up on that, and once again I’m amazed at how well she and Sheppard click. I sure as hell will _never_ click that well with _my_ partner in command, or at least not as long as that’s the Major. “Okay, that’s a fair point, John.” Then she turns to me. “Are you staying in Washington, Captain?”

 Very tactful way of going around asking me if I’m going to stay with my family. Definitely points for effort, ma’am. I nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’m, uh, staying,” at the house of Major Sheppard’s new XO’s sister, which still is kinda weird, even after two weeks, “at a friend’s house.” And then I remember that she used to teach at Georgetown and can’t resist doing a little brown-nosing, after all. “Is there anything off the beaten path you can recommend?”

 Yeah, _Sheppard_ totally saw through that very transparent attempt at ingratiating myself a little with the expedition leader, as evidenced by his knowing grin. Oh, go fuck yourself, sir.

 I’m not sure if Weir picked up on it, but apparently, she doesn’t care either way because her entire _face_ lights up and she, by her standards, at least, basically starts _gushing_ , “Oh, sure! There’s a fantastic little Italian restaurant off…”

 “Hate to interrupt you, Elizabeth, but we both have to be in a briefing in ten minutes.” Hey, that’s not fair! I actually wanted to hear that answer! Seriously, sir, that’s just _rude_.

 Dr. Weir seems to think the same, or at least she seems to be annoyed by this. Possibly not for being interrupted per se, but definitely by being interrupted because she has to listen to yet _another_ briefing. I can sympathize. Briefings seems to be _all_ everyone is ever doing around here, and aren’t they all tired of it yet? I clear my throat. “Sorry, ma’am. Sir. Don’t let me keep you.”

  _Both_ of them look like they’d _love_ me to keep them but yeah, as always, Dr. Weir is the one being reasonable. “It’s alright, Captain. Sorry for dashing off in the middle of the conversation. Just send me a little reminder and I’ll see what I can dig up for you?”

 That’s… awfully nice of her. I just nod. “Will do, ma’am. Thank you.”

 “You’re welcome. And have a nice vacation!” I smile at her, this time a genuine, thank you kind of smile, when she turns to go.

 Sheppard goes to follow her, then, but not without giving me another clap on the shoulder, with the words, “Promotion board’s gonna pass you, don’t worry, Reece. You are one hell of a Marine, don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

 Um. What the hell was that meant to be? Was that some kind of veiled dig at the Major? At the SGC leadership? Just some friendly words of encouragement? _What_?

 And of course I can’t even just ask him because he’s sprinting down the hall the next minute. _Naturally_. Damn, I just _hate_ it when they do that.

 But hey, at least now I’m free to enjoy the rest of my vacation in Washington, D.C., hopefully without any more committee or board appearances or other unpleasantness. So happy and all. Even though I’d honestly rather be in Pegasus. But yeah, what can’t be helped and all that. And at least my host family is excruciatingly nice, even the heretofore unknown Major Williamson. So, guess I’ll just to have to make the best out of the next three weeks before finally getting _home_.

 Weird how the definition of that can change in just a year, huh?

 


	4. The Dirt Of This Hard Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthias Morsberg and Thomas Moore find another axe to grind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyah, this took a lot longer than I expected it which is mainly due to first being completely out of inspiration for a suitable song and then to taking up translating my old stuff from English to German for my fanfiktion.de account. I also put some stuff taking place in future seasons first because they basically _assaulted_ me out of a the blue and needed to be written first, so... sorry for the delay. 
> 
> I'm also, BTW, considering a Christmas story because those are by now a tradition but I'm currently coming up with nothing. Any pointers, ideas, etc. would be welcome (can be anything Stargate, doesn't have to be inside the _Protect andd Survive_ / _Minor Characters_ frame, het and gen are mostly free game, so if you have anything, just tell me and I'll consider it). 
> 
> Regarding this chapter, we're still in the time between The Siege III and The Intruder, about three weeks in, so around the same time as _Just Working For The Man_. There's one more story in that time frame, and then a sort of vignette to The Intruder and we should be back in track with episodes. Have fun!
> 
> PS.: Damn, I nearly forgot that. Morsberg throws around a couple acronyms here. They're NATO standard designations for staff officer positions in units that are standardized all over NATO armed forces, starting from company level up to division and (for those who have that) higher. They mean as follows:
> 
> G1 - Personnel Officer  
> G2 - Security Officer  
> G3 - Training and Operations Officer  
> G6 - IT Infrastructure and Networks Officer
> 
> There are also G4 (Logistics) and G5 (Civil-Military Cooperation) but let's be honest, at this point, that's probably all Lorne, too :')

**The Dirt Of This Hard Land**

_“Hey there mister can you tell me what happened to the seeds I’ve sown_  
_Can you give me a reason sir as to why they’ve never grown_  
_They’ve just blown around from town to town_  
_Till they’re back out on these fields_  
_Where they fall from my hand_  
_Back into the dirt of this hard land.”_

_Bruce Springsteen, “This Hard Land”_

 So that was fun.

 Most of it, anyway.

 The getting dirty and exhausted on the Mainland part, mostly. The getting into a shouting match with my new team leader part, not so much. I mean, okay, in a way, _that_ was fun, too. Just probably “not conducive to heightening team cohesion” as any training officer would probably tell me. At least the Atlantis contingent is currently short a G3. Or, to be more precise, the G3 currently is also the G2, the G1 and the XO. And the acting contingent commander.

 Whatever.

 What I meant to say: I know getting into a shouting match in the middle of a swamp with my new direct superior was _probably_ not the smartest idea. It’s just… the I couldn’t help it. Or rather, I had to do it.

 Because, see, it went like this: there we were, in the middle of our first training outside of the city, just going through the motions, establishing baselines for future team work, that kind of thing, right? It could have gone better, especially considering that all of us have special forces training and considering that a lot of my special forces work back on Earth was as an enabler and combat medic embedded with American units but yeah, we were on track, mostly.

 And then Major Moore _had_ to go and start bitching about his new Atlantis job.

 In Atlantis, you see, the contingent is relatively small, and right now it’s even smaller because the _Daedalus_ left a three weeks ago and took most of the Marines that came with Colonel Everett back to Earth, and there was also a drain of First Wavers who either ended their tour of duty voluntarily or were forced to and left permanently or went back temporarily because the IOA and the Pentagon requested their presence. Like Maureen, for example. We’ve also already been told that the new contingent will be considerably bigger but still won’t come up anywhere near battalion strength.

 So, even when we’re _not_ operating on a skeleton contingent like right now, that translates into all of us having to work multiple jobs to keep the city running. You know, like Maureen who translates stuff for the diplomats and scientists when she isn’t off-world or training or me who is part of the infirmary staff whenever I’m not concerned with anything off-world team related.

 Major Moore, for his part, drew the lucky lot of temporary, possible to be turned into permanent contingent G6 and liaison to the civilian part of the IT department.

 I mean, alright, I get, it’s a crappy job. IT support, network maintenance and interfacing Earth and Ancient computer tech in a city full of people who all think they can do your job better than you because they hold three PhDs and not one of them in a field related to IT and you don’t hold any PhD at all but actually know how computers and software work sounds basically like an IT professional’s nightmare.

  _But_ badmouthing Dr. Radek Zelenka is really where I draw the line.

 From what Maureen told me, she already knew what was in store for everyone who had to work with Rodney McKay because apparently, McKay already had a history with the SGC, and it wasn’t a good one. Meaning both Major Moore and Sergeant DeLisle – who apparently will be working as a lab tech and instructor in the chemistry department whenever we’re not doing off-world team stuff – _also_ knew who McKay is and what they’ll have to expect with him working as the head of the science department. _Meaning_ that he’ll be kind of _both_ of their superior, in a way. Not in disciplinary matters, but definitely in field-related matters.

 So, yeah, sure, bitch about the job, bitch about the future new boss, bitch about the new clients to your heart’s content… but _goddammit_ , don’t bitch about the _current_ boss. I have _no_ idea what Moore’s problem is with Zelenka but I have a bad feeling that for him, Zelenka is already tainted merely by association with Rodney McKay. From what I was privy to, Moore fought tooth and nail against being tagged as the new G6 but apparently, Major Lorne doesn’t believe in playing favorites or giving his Academy buddies special treatment so after two weeks, he put his foot down and told Moore in no uncertain terms where he could put his objections. I know that because I happened to be outside Major Lorne’s office at the moment, and I don’t know much about that guy – yet – but I just _bet_ that he practically never resorts to shouting. Unless, apparently, you’re Thomas Moore and being an asshole to your new commanding officer.

 And anyway, there we were in the middle of a swamp, Moore pushing ahead and muttering under his breath and suddenly going on about how working for a McKay minion would be maximum penalty and I think I might have muttered back, “Yo, no shittalking Radek Zelenka on this fucking island,” and I guess it just escalated from there?

 I don’t even really know what _actually_ happened but it ended with DeLisle nearly having to separate us in the middle of the swamp and all of us getting ferried back shivering, dripping and generally being really, really pissed off, by Major Lorne after the end of our little exercise. This one probably _won’t_ make it into the “Executed Successfully” folder, and more likely into the “So Fucked Up There Will Be Ten Pages Of Punishment Lessons Learned Reports For Each Participant After Less Than A Day” folder.

 At least I’m warm and dry now, so that’s something, I guess.

 Alright, whatever, I still need to so some professional reading before calling it an early night and… that just wasn’t my doorbell. _Definitely_ not my doorbell. Nope.

 So, about that professional reading… _Not_ the doorbell.

 Back to… “Open up, Doc, I know you’re in there.” _Herrgottnochmal_. This just didn’t happen, right? “Doc, don’t make me override your door controls. I can do that now, you know. As the new G6 and all that.” From what Maureen told me, he probably could do it even if he weren’t the G6 because apparently, he’s some kind of hacking wizard.

 She also told me that he can be really damn persistent when he wants something from you and for a moment I consider testing just how far he’d go, just to see what kind of psycho my new boss really is but in the end, my weariness wins out and I roll my eyes, stalk over to my door and wave it open.

 “Evening, Doc.” Outside, there’s an Air Force Major looking not contrite _at all_ , and of course his trusty sergeant behind him. Don’t get me wrong, I happen to like DeLisle but I’m not stupid. I know where _his_ loyalties most probably lie. _Definitely_ not with the new guy.

 I decide to keep my face businesslike. And not inviting _at all_. “Sir.”

 He doesn’t seem to be deterred. Also not _at all_. Hands in his pockets, totally casual, playing the slacker officer he wants everyone to think he is, and whom I’d have pegged him for, too, hadn’t I seen him in action and hadn’t Maureen disabused me of that notion very, very fast. “So, here’s the thing, Doc.” Thing? What thing? “Sergeant DeLisle here noted that we kind of seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” yeah, no _shit_ , Sherlock, “and made me I mean _suggested_ to me we uh debrief in a more informal surroundings to clear that up and here we are. Ready to debrief.”

 What the… _What_ is going on here? “Sir, I don’t…”

 “See, I _told_ Dee you’d say that.” Still sounding casual and a little amused but there’s a weird edge to it all of a sudden. “So, look, Doc, neither of us will get off this team for the foreseeable future, so I _strongly_ propose we make this shit work.” And the edge just got clearer. He _says_ it like a suggestion but he _clearly_ doesn’t mean it as merely that. Damn, I might be in a lot more over my head than I thought I would be.

 I’m not giving up without a fight, though. No combat medic worth his salt would. “I still don’t get why that…”

 “Reece won’t be here for another six weeks or so.” True. And? Also, could you _please_ let me finish my sentences just _once_? “You really wanna be around when she realizes we still hate each other’s guts?”

 Oh come on, despite everything, _that’s_ a little dramatic. “I really wouldn’t phrase it that way.”

 “Phrase it any way you like, you still don’t wanna be anywhere near her when she gets wind of it, and you know it.” That’s… shit, that’s a fair point, actually. The bastard totally played me. Using Maureen and the displeasure at her boss and her team’s medic still going for each other’s throats every time they can, she will _absolutely_ make known the moment she gets back here against me. That was a real dick move.

 Mostly because it absolutely worked. I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Fair enough.”

 He grins. He _actually_ grins. “So let’s get to work.” And then reaches behind him and it looks like Sergeant DeLisle just put something is his… what? “Oh, and I guess it’s not up to your usual standard but this is the only beer I could find in the mess hall’s fridge and I really didn’t want to turn up empty-handed.”

 I don’t recognize the label on the beer bottles he’s holding up – definitely no Astra, though – so I have no idea who these bottles belong to and I should really give him some shit for just nicking someone’s precious bottles of alcohol but then again… you don’t store that shit _in the mess hall fridge_ , mostly because it’s contraband and subject to confiscation the moment someone from Command comes across it and because it’s just plain stupid to leave it where everyone can access it. Having Thomas Moore of all people steel it from you is probably exactly what you deserve. I shrug. “It’ll do, sir.”

 “Great! Let’s debrief the shit out of this.” He looks… genuinely excited about this, which is what tells me that this is not going to be your bog standard debriefing. If there’s anything this guy hates it’s anything that just _smells_ of paperwork, as Maureen explained to me. Ugh.

 I give up. “Alright, fine. Come in, sir. Sergeant.”

 They both file in, Moore first and then DeLisle who… Did he just throw me a vaguely apologizing look? Not sure with this guy because even for me, he has proven to be especially hard to read so far.

 A few steps in, Moore stops and takes a look around, then looks back at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’re not the neatest of persons, are you?”

 Oh _fuck_ you. I just moved in here three weeks ago and had to borrow and trade for basically _everything_ because my previous quarters were basically obliterated during the siege. I’m still in the process of sorting out what to put where because I’m constantly either in the infirmary or training with you or accompanying scientists through the city. You really have no right deriding me for my quarters not being spotless, _okay_? “That really was unnece…”

 DeLisle, funny enough seems to think so, too, because he moves to intervene at the same time I move to get Moore off my back. “Sir, could you please…”

 “I never said it was meant as an insult.” Errr.

 I blink. And come up with the very witty, “I uh what.”

 Moore gives me a pained little grin. “We’ll get there eventually, Doc. Don’t worry.”

 I… really have no idea what he means by “there” and I really don’t know if I _want_ to know but sure, I can work with that? Or something?

 Either way, after that, we all manage to find seats somewhere in my kind of not really put together yet quarters and then go about debriefing which turns out to be a genuine one, after all. With beers, granted, but oh God, it almost pains me to say it, this guy knows his stuff. He walks us through the failed exercise almost step by step, identifying every damn mistake we made, not sparing himself or the sergeant and telling us how we need to work off our asses if we don’t want to end up as Wraith fodder on our first off-world mission as a team. He’s good. He’s really fucking good at what he does.

 Dammit.

 It takes us well into the night until we have sorted it all out and put together a reasonably good after action report for Major Lorne, including Lessons Identified, Learned and Probably Still To Come but yes, we manage to get it done. And let’s just say that three beers definitely weren’t enough to deal with this shit, so the fact that we still made it without the help of more alcohol counts in favor of us.

 In the end, the sergeant excuses himself first, throwing us both vaguely cautioning “Don’t make me regret this, boys” looks and then goes about his way, while Moore makes a few more not so helpful quips about the state of my quarters – you really can stick your suggestions about where to get new linens before the _Daedalus_ is back where it’s dark, thank you very much – before telling me “he’d like to stay and chat but has to get up at oh fuck hundred tomorrow morning” and then excusing himself, as well. And because I’m a gracious host and totally _not_ because I want to make sure that he really leaves, I escort him to my door.

 When he leaves, I _almost_ turn to close the door and finally fall face first into bed but of _course_ he just can’t let me do that. Instead, he sticks his hands in his pockets and gives me a nonchalant, “You were right, by the way.”

 And I, stupid grunt that I am, automatically take the bait. “About what exactly?”

 He shrugs. “Zelenka. He seems to be a pretty decent guy, actually.” Wait, what? Did he really wait _two and a half hours_ until putting this in front of me? “I mean, half the time I have no idea what he’s saying in that gibberish passing as his mother tongue but yeah, he’s okay.” I’m not sure what to make of that, to be honest. I mean, he did insult the Czech language which is kind of pretty much actually _really_ rude but he also agreed that Radek Zelenka isn’t as bad as he thought? “Not half as much of a McKay minion as I thought. Guess I owe you an apology.”

 Errr, what? Did Major Unapologetically An Asshole And Loving It offer me an apology?

 I blink at him and he just looks at me, as if he’s expecting me to say something and just because I don’t want him to get away as easy as that, I can’t resist saying, “And Dr. Zelenka.”

 I expect him to tell me not to get ahead of myself or biting off more than I can chew but for some reason, he just nods slowly, as if thinking about it for a moment and then says, “Fair enough. Him too, then.”

 Okay. That’s _not_ what I expected. I’m not sure if he’ll ever actually walk up to Dr. Zelenka and apologize to him for thinking him to be some kind of mini McKay but for now, I’ll take what I can get. And because _I_ ’m not an asshole, I don’t make him work for it and instead simply tell him, “Apology accepted, sir.”

 That… makes him grin, and something tells me that a _lot_ of people fall for that one head over heels, _probably_ including that one recently promoted Marine that I happen to know. “Awesome.” Thankfully, _I_ ’m in no danger of falling for that one. Not my type. I’ll just keep low-key crushing on John Sheppard, thank you very much. “I mean, you and I are probably never gonna be friends but…”

 “Cooperation seems to be not completely improbable.” And I mean that. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be a big fan of his – I like my commanding officers a little less pretend laissez-faire and a little more straight-forward – but he’s right: neither of us will get off this team anytime soon, so we can either go at each other’s throats any time we get the chance or we can try to get used to each other and make the best of it. When all is said and done, I’m a pretty practical guy and I’ve got a feeling he is, too.

 Which he confirms when he makes an acquiescing face and nods. “Yeah. Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Then he does something which surprises me, and that’s giving me an honest tired little half-smile, as if he didn’t mind our debriefing as much as he thought he would and says, sounding unexpectedly friendly, “Good night, Doc.”

 It leaves me a little stunned, so all I get out is a slightly bewildered, “Night, sir,” before he turns around and walks away and I realize that there’s more to this guy than I thought.

 Yes, he obviously likes to be an asshole and he likes to make everyone believe he lives and breathes a total disregard for authority, a rather lax work ethic and taking nothing and no one seriously but underneath that, I think he’s… insecure? Confused? _Lonely_? Is that it? Or am I completely overthinking this?

 Fuck, I just wish Maureen were back already. Then again, I probably wouldn’t ask her, after all because let’s all be honest here, she’s _probably_ not the best person to ask about Major Thomas Moore and anyway, it’s late and schedule says that I’m supposed to report for “PT fitness evaluation” to my new team leader tomorrow morning and something tells me it’s going to be another giant shit show, so in the end, I decide to leave the brooding be and just turn in for the night.

 At least I got him to admit that he was wrong about Zelenka, so I guess that’s something, huh? Yeah. _Definitely_ something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, the more I think about this, the more I'm convinced that Morsberg actually _isn't_ overthinking this and he's pretty much spot on with characterizing the Tom as "insecure, confused and lonely" at this point in the story. Outstanding job for a surgeon, Mats! Just no one tell Tom, alright?


	5. All You Gotta Do Is Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against the odds, Maureen Reece manages to make a new friend aboard the _Daedalus_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaaaaa, I'm finally back to writing _Off the Record_ stuff! After exorcizing that damn AU bunny from before Christmas, I can finally get back to writing this and man, am I glad! In this universe, Tom and Maureen really take their time but at least I already _know_ this universe's versions of them and the rest and can deal with them a whole lotta better.
> 
> But anyway, here we are, a week before The Intruder and finally back on our way to Atlantis. Enjoy!

**All You Gotta Do Is Ride**

_“And I said, “Will you be my spirit guide?”_  
 _And she said, “You don’t need a spirit guide_  
 _All you gotta do is ride_  
 _You just close your eyes and then open them wide”_  
  
_She said_  
 _Do something that scares you_  
 _Do something that scares you.”_

_Heather Nova, “Do Something That Scares You”_

 The goods news first: I’m _finally_ on my way back to Pegasus.

 Being on Earth was… okay, it was mostly nice. You know, aside from that whole nailing Sheppard to the wall business and that not exactly pleasant promotion board thing. Or… visiting Arlington. I stayed away from the graves related to my family – you’d be surprised at how many there are, especially because we never considered ourselves to be a military family when my parents were still alive – because I wasn’t in the mood of dealing with the mess my family history is but I went to that one grave that would make me even _more_ of a mess. And… it did.

 I wish I could say that I stood there at Laura’s grave, in my Blues, composed and dignified, raising my hand for one final salute, blahblahblah. I didn’t. I mean, I did wear the Blues and promptly got drenched to the bone by the tail end of hurricane season. But that’s as far as I got into my original vision. I tore up even before I could get into a position for a final dignified salute and stood there at her grave bawling my eyes out and shivering violently in my sodding uniform and mumbling incoherently for at least half an hour, probably more. In the end, I guess I was actually pretty much in luck with the extremely shitty weather because at least that way, no one saw the female Marine lose her shit at the sight of a headstone.

 But yeah, other than that, being back on Earth was okay. I used the six weeks there to buy a ton of books – always coordinating with the other Expedition members who were back on Earth only temporarily so we wouldn’t end up with ten copies of some obscure fantasy short story anthology all the hardcore high fantasy nerds from Diplomacy were salivating after and not even one copy of the most important new release non-fiction books – get a lot of professional reading done, check out options for furthering my academic career, that sort of thing. I was also dragged around Washington, D.C. and parts of Virginia and Maryland by one Dr. Anna Williamson, Major Lorne’s sister. Sometimes, her husband would join in and hey, after about four weeks or so, the awkwardness of living in the house of a guy who’s friends with both my old and new immediate boss _and_ the new contingent XO faded down to a solid six. From a really uncomfortable ten, by the way.

 So, being back on Earth was alright but going back to Pegasus feels like going _home_. I wish I could say differently, but that’s just how it is. And in the end, it’s okay. For me, at least.

 And now for the _bad_ news: my bunkmate.

 For two weeks, I had to share my cabin with one of the replacements coming in, one First Lieutenant Laura Cadman, US Marine Corps. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she’s perfectly nice in other contexts but these last two weeks, she’s been driving me _crazy_. I’m almost positive that she used to be a damn bouncy ball in another life. You know, a nocturnal one. Because God forbid you make any noises louder than a whisper or any sudden movements before let’s say 1000. That’s guaranteed to make Lieutenant Cadman _hate_ you for the rest of the day and voice her disapproval in almost career suicidal words. But once she’s awake, she just won’t calm down. Whenever she’s in this cabin and is reasonably awake, she’s either moving – how many crunches _can_ one person do before they get bored and _why_ can’t she just use one of the two gyms on board for that? – or talking or doing both. And she can stay awake _really_ long. Someone should take away her damn coffee supply or just make her go an extra round on her evening run. No, make that two.

 You’re right, of course, I could just go find myself one of the more secluded spaces on this ship to get away from the onslaught of Cadman’s _energy_ and _socialness_ but damn, I’m the fucking senior officer in this cabin, and all I want is some quiet time to read and get the first couple assignments for my new _long_ long-distance Master’s program from the University of Colorado, Boulder done and _not_ have to walk around the ship for an hour to find a place that’s not full of people and not off-limits to passengers, either. For a ship of the _Daedalus_ ’s size, that’s astonishingly hard.  

 It is, in short, a miracle that we have so far managed not to kill each other out of sheer desperation. I actually even tried to reason with just about every person on this ship who is in any way, shape or form part of the process that assigns passengers to their respective bunks and cabins and _every single one_ gave me their version of “buck the fuck up, Marine, it’s only three weeks and it’s a big ship, no one gets special treatment here, least of all some lowly grunt company grade”. It’s like it’s a damn conspiracy or something.

 At least right now, I’m alone in the cabin, hyperspace is streaming past outside our one tiny window and I have finally time to… “Hey, they’re having a taco eating contest in the forward mess hall, and it looks like Engineering is beating the shit out of the onboard Marine contingent. You wanna come and join the cheer squad?”

  _Goddammit_.

 With more force than I’d wanted, I close the book I was just reading – Buzzell’s _Killing Time in Iraq_ , and someone should have saved that guy by pulling him into the loving arms of Homeworld Security, Army or not – and give her a look Laura Greenspan once described as “Maureen’s Look of Death”. “ _Fuck_ no, Lieutenant, I will not join the goddamn cheer squad. And if you _ever_ just come in here to interrupt me doing _whatever the fuck I’m doing at that moment_ , I _will_ fucking end you.”

 Mh. Maybe I should give _Killing Time in Iraq_ some time off. That just sounded a lot like Buzzell rubbing off on me a little too much.

 Cadman, for her part, just blinks at me, then makes a sound that was dangerously close to a suppressed snort and says, “Wow, whoever pissed in _your_ cheerios this morning?”

 “Ma’am.” There’s a goddamn “ma’am” missing.

 And then I realize that what was so grating about Lieutenant Cadman wasn’t her energy or her temperament or her night owl self. It wasn’t that she kept trying to pull me into any number of social events on the ship or that she kept working out in the cabin or that sometimes, she just wouldn’t shut up. Or at least not only that. It was the fact that she at the same time reminded me way too much of that other Laura I used to know and seemed to remind me with every other step that she _wasn’t_ that other Laura, they just share the name and _some_ of the traits, while being radically different in _other_ traits. It was, basically, that Laura Cadman is a living, breathing reminder that I will never see Laura Greenspan, ever again.

 And _none_ of that is her fault. I take a deep breath. “Lieutenant?”

 I fully expect her to leave anyway, fed up with that salty recluse of a captain she’s forced to spend _another_ week in very close quarters with because truth to be told, it’s what I would have done and what Laura Greenspan _probably_ would have done, too, had we ever been at each other’s throats for two weeks in our relationship. But, being Laura _Cadman_ , she manages to surprise me and turns around, just barely keeping herself from rolling her eyes and sounding rightfully pissed off, “What, ma’am?”

 Okay, then. Time to grovel. I carefully put away the book and sit up on the upper bunk, my legs dangling down, and lean with my hands on the edge of my bunk. “I uh… I think I owe you an apology.” Cadman doesn’t say anything but at least she doesn’t turn around and leave. Come on, Captain, go the entire distance. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved these last couple weeks. That’s not… my usual MO.”

 Now, Cadman raises her eyebrows inquisitively, looking vaguely… amused? “Really, ma’am?”

 Great. I think the Lieutenant just decided to enjoy every minute of this and make me embarrass myself very, very thoroughly. I’ve got the bad feeling that I deserve this. Interesting that someone who’s as _in your face_ as Laura Cadman can be subtle like that. Well then, she earned the full nine yards of me doing a little soul stripping. “Yes. I just… I’ve been back to Earth for the first time in over a year and I’m still trying to work out a lot things, cope with some stuff and… again, I’m sorry.”

 Cadman takes her time. I’m not sure whether she’s doing this as just another way to make me suffer a little or whether she genuinely has to think about what to do with this. Then, after a moment of thinking, Cadman gives me a strangely quiet – for someone so _lively_ – smile and says, “You could have told me, you know. I mean, we’ve only known each other for two weeks but… I would have listened.” She’s right. I don’t even know her for that long but _something_ tells me that she’s being sincere. She would have listened, and she probably even would have been a _good_ listener. Shit, I really messed this up. “‘Sides, we’re both Marines and we’re supposed to work together in Atlantis, getting along reasonably well usually helps with that kind of thing.”

 That’s an accurate assessment if I ever heard one. One that I should have been able to make myself way earlier, being the more senior one of us and all that. Ah, hell. I make an apologetic face. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… I’m not really good at making friends.”

 She snorts at that. A small, decidedly amused snort, and somehow she even manages to make it sound like she’s not actually laughing about me. Then she gives me a full-on grin, and for the first time I allow myself to see her grinning for herself, without interposing the image of Laura Greenspan grinning at me over her. Allow myself to _like_ her grinning at me. “That’s okay. I am.”

 Yeah, well, “One of us has to be, I guess.”

 That makes her laugh, and I really should tell her not to, because you know, seniority and respect and blah but it turns out that when you let yourself see Laura Cadman for herself, without putting her in the shadow of your dead best friend, she isn’t actually that bad, at all. “Okay,” she says, trying to smother another amused grin and failing gloriously, “let me show you how.” Then she sticks her hand out to me and says, still grinning, “Hi, I’m First Lieutenant Laura Cadman, United States Marine Corps. I’m pleased to meet you.”

 Right. Okay. A do-over. That’s not such a bad idea, actually. I can work with that. Still looking a little contrite at being an ass for two whole weeks, I take her hand and briefly shake it. “Hi, I’m Captain Maureen Reece, United States Marine Corps, and I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

 She nods. “Not bad for a beginner, ma’am,” and _that_ finally makes _me_ laugh. It’s not really the words, it’s more the way she says it – matter-of-fact and in a kind of professional tone, like she’s a sports coach and she just showed me a new move. This one has some comedic talent, I’m tempted to say.

 And okay, if she’s making an effort, I can damn well make an effort, too. She earned it. “Maureen’s fine, Lieutenant.”

 “Cool,” she says and then smirks. “Laura’s fine, too, by the way.” Yeah. It’s gonna take a lot of time and struggle to get used to _that_ , I’m afraid, and that’s just one more sign telling me that Laura’s death probably messed me up more than _anything_ else that happened in that past year. “So… that stuff you mentioned… want to talk about it?”

 Right. This is one direct Marine, it seems. And I appreciate the offer but… I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet. I take a deep breath. “Most of all,” I tell her, hopping down from my bunk and hoping I manage not to offend her, “I’d like something to eat. Preferably _not_ in the same place as that taco eating contest.”

 I almost expect her to give me the “Fine, suit yourself, I _just_ gave you a chance to bury the hatchet, but yeah, you just continue being the grumpy captain, just fuck off” treatment but she just proves that out of the both of us, she’s the one with the higher EQ and just goes with the flow. “Yeah, most of the onboard Marines are a bunch of dumb assholes, anyway. They kinda actually deserve losing to Engineering.”

 It makes me laugh again, and the pleased smirk on her face tells me that she’s been trying to achieve that result for two weeks straight and just congratulated herself on reaching her goal before reaching Atlantis and yeah, you gotta admit that woman’s tenacity above all. “Let’s just go find some food.”

 “Damn,” she says, sounding absolutely earnest, following me out of the cabin, “I _love_ hunting down food on space ships.”

 And just like that… I made a new friend. I just have to manage not to screw this up and just somehow find a way to hold on to that and not lose her like I lost the last one. I can do that, right?


	6. Can't Be Separated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Moore and Evan Lorne have a little heart to heart on one of the Atlantis piers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand let's have another chapter right after the last one, because I've had this sitting on my hard drive for _ages_ and just want to finally get it out there because it has Tom and Lorne doing some serious talking _and_ Tom being annoyed at Maureen and Lorne _and_ Lorne getting flustered and just really want you to have it.
> 
> Timeline wise, we're at a week after _All You Gotta Do Is Ride_ , during The Intruder (that part when the crew is back on Atlantis, right at the end of the episode). So, yay.

**Can’t Be Separated**

_„Fahren zwei durch alle Meere,_  
_fahren zwei in einem Boot._  
_Der eine kennt die Sterne,_  
_der andere misst das Lot._  
_Sind nicht zu trennen, bleiben vereint,_  
_ob Nacht heranzieht, Morgen erscheint._  
_Sie finden zueinander –_

_auf Lebenszeit.“_

_Puhdys, „Lebenszeit“_

 So, ten weeks in Atlantis and I still don’t know what to make of it. Might be because I lack the damn gene, might be because it’s a damn city floating in a seriously big ass ocean and I’m not a damn _sailor_ , might be because all Lorne had us do since the command crew plus selected first wave second row members were whisked away to Earth nine weeks ago was acting as security detail for scientists exploring the city. And I just fucking _hate_ security detail duty. _Especially_ when I don’t even get to go off-world.

 At least he let me break in my new medic but without Reece, it’s only half the fun. Mostly because half the time, I’m not sure if Morsberg really lacks cross-cultural training in certain areas or if he’s just fucking with me. I _suspect_ it’s the latter but honestly, I could use Reece’s abilities as a translator. But _no_ , Sheppard had to take her with him for some stupid board hearing or other. For _nine damn weeks_ , because it’s three weeks _to_ Earth for the _Daedalus_ , three weeks _on_ Earth for whatever harebrained reason and three weeks back _from_ Earth. Nine. Damn. Weeks without my foreign language and culture specialist. That’s a _shitty_ amount of time, seriously.

 Also, Sheppard. What _is_ it with that guy? All the First Wavers practically _worship_ the ground he walks on, even if he’s not here. Haven’t personally known him during my time in Black Ops because Dee and I mostly did stuff where we were more likely to be anonymously buried in foreign soil than getting an exfil by helicopter if we screwed up but I _have_ heard of him. Nothing good, mostly, but then again, that’s probably what people are saying about me and Dee, too. Especially after our second stint after Laura died. Damn, _that_ was a crappy time alright. Still, _no one_ can be as good as the First Waver Cult of Sheppard makes him out to… “I see you’re sulking again.”

 Right. And where did _he_ just come from? “Just admiring the view, _sir_.” That’s stupid, and even I know it, both because I am _not_ just here to admire the view – which is great, if you like endless sea deserts and dramatically roiling clouds – and because I don’t begrudge Lorne getting made Sheppard’s XO, so the passive-aggressive undertone is kinda over the top. Actually, I kinda take pity on him for that because that’s almost guaranteeing him that he’s either constantly out pulling his superior’s ass out of the fire or spending most of his time behind his desk putting out fires in the city. Neither is sounding particularly attractive, if you ask me.

 Lorne just sighs and sits down next to me on the edge of the pier, putting a pair of bottles between us. I blink. “Where the hell did you get _those_?”

 “That’s still “where the hell did you get those, _sir_ ” to you.” Asshole.

 Mostly because I totally deserved that. I make a face. “Point taken.” Oh, and, “Also, for the record, I wasn’t sulking.”

 That makes him snort and he opens his bottle with an opener he must have brought with him. Damn eager beaver, always coming prepared. “You so totally were. You hate it here.”

 “No, I don’t.” He nearly spits out his beer in an attempt to not snort again. “Seriously. Just getting cabin fever, ‘s all.” You know, that wasn’t too bad. Because I totally managed to get over my first instinct, which was to tell him that I don’t hate being here per se. Just being here _without Reece_. Maybe, if he hadn’t been XO, I would have told him. Now that he’s not just my friend, but also my commanding officer…

 Oh who am I kidding. I _sure as hell_ would have _never_ told him.

 He nods, a meaningful look on his face and takes another swig from his bottle. I do, too, and for a while, neither of us says anything. And then Lorne drops his bomb. “Laura would have liked it here.”

 I _hate_ him. And I hate myself, because all I can say is a half-choked, “Yeah.” Because she would. Fuck, she _would_. And the fact that it’s been almost a year doesn’t make it any better.

 There’s silence from Lorne for a while. Then, in a completely serious voice, “It wasn’t your fault, Tom.”

 Fuck him. Fuck him for saying that without a trace of pity. Fuck him for even saying it in the first place. Because that’s _bullshit_. I can’t help the absolute cynicism in my voice when replying, “And that’s supposed to make it better exactly how?”

 He shrugs, and I just hate him even more for not giving me at least a hint of pity that I could use to attack him. “I never said anything about making it better. Just that it wasn’t your fault.”

 Yeah, uh-huh, right. “How would _you_ know, anyway?”

 “I was _there_ , Tom.” Yup, walked right into that one. Because he was. He was there, alright. He was there on the day Laura died and he was there at the funeral, a pallbearer just like me and Charlie and he was there when I left the SGC and yes. He _was_ there.

 I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

 He just nods, and just for once spares me the “Yes, of _course_ I’m right, what did you expect” act, just keeps sitting there, drinking his beer and this feels eerily like that talk I had with Dee, after he kicked my ass in the workout room at Hurlburt.

 Which is probably what prompts me to say the stupid thing I say next, “We had a fight.”

 He raises his eyebrows. “You and… who, exactly?”

 Oh come on, _really_?

 Oh wait. I think… he’s giving me a chance to back out, leave this hill before me and my dignity die on it. Or something. Bad luck for him and me and my dignity that this is too reminiscent of the evening in Florida when I spent regaling Dee with Tales From Maine and the entire damn setting somehow managed to put me in that same spill-all mood from back then. I take a deep breath and take caution not to look at him. “Laura and I. Two days before… it happened.”

 He’s silent for another moment, then says, sounding strangely matter-of-fact, “You never told me that.”

 True, but then again, “I never told anyone.” Mh. No, that’s not quite right. “Well, I guess Dee knew about it. He always knows about _everything_.” And _that_ is definitely true. Honestly, half the time I have no clue how he does it – only, okay, in this case I know because he more or less admitted that he saw Laura right after that fight and I _still_ have no idea how I feel about the two of them, you know, uh, _sleeping with each other holy hell_ – but yeah, he really does know everything.

 “What was the fight about?” Lorne, for his part, doesn’t take the bait I threw at him and unfortunately stays right on course. Damn.

 I raise my shoulders, fully aware of the fact that this is something Reece likes to do when she’s about to reveal something personal or doesn’t feel comfortable in a situation. Always kinda makes her look like a tortoise trying to hide in its shell. A damn cute tortoise. _Damn_. Just concentrate on the issue here. “Something stupid. My professional shortcomings. I pulled rank on her at some point.”

 Nothing at first, then a very quiet and just _slightly_ disappointed, “Fuck, Tom.”

 Oh good God, “I know, okay? I _know_.”

 I fully expect him to give me an at least mid-length speech on how there’s a place and time for pulling rank on friends and this wasn’t it – it wasn’t, trust me – and how I couldn’t possibly have behaved any more stupid than that and yes, I’d definitely have deserved that speech. Only I don’t get it. What I do get is, “Reece going away fucked you up pretty bad, huh?” and it shuts me up pretty effectively.

 Damn straight it did. Right from the moment she announced that she’d be joining the Atlantis Expedition and no, that was non-negotiable, it fucked me up good. I kept telling myself that I was mostly just angry at her for ignoring the chain of command like that, at just going over my head, over _our heads_ and break up the team in a career move, but the truth is that it was about a lot more. So much, to be precise, that I still haven’t managed to work through it all and in truth have just decided to leave that steaming pile of an emotional clusterfuck alone for the time being. Which is why, in the end, this is what I tell Lorne, “Do you _really_ think I’m dumb enough to have that kind of conversation with my _commanding officer_?”

 He shrugs, completely unperturbed by my _slightly_ passive-aggressive undertone. “I thought you might want to have it with a friend.”

 Oh God, I hate it when he does that. I have never had a commanding officer who’s been a friend first, and in the last ten weeks here, I have learned just how well Lorne is suited to the task of being XO – and, in the absence of Sheppard, acting CO – of a military contingent like in Atlantis, and being able to distinguish precisely between being a CO and being a friend is part of that. I’ve always known that both Lorne and Williamson were meant to go places but it’s something completely different to see my assumptions confirmed _right before my eyes_. I rub my neck and resist heaving a sigh. “Not… today, okay?”

 “Fair enough.” Damn, and here I was prepared to fight his continued prodding. That simple concession just effectively took the wind out of me, and I hate him for that, just a little bit. Enough that I don’t see the next one coming. “So, that fight with Laura…”

 “I apologized.” Yep, totally didn’t see it coming, which is why I actually _answered_ that damn prodding. Ah hell. Since I’m at it, why not go the whole nine yards. “When we were in the ready room before the MEDCAP. Told her I was an idiot and asked her to give me another chance.”

 He raises his eyebrows. Yes, sometimes, I _do_ apologize, _okay_? “What’d she say?”

 The truth is: I don’t really want to have this conversation. I didn’t really want to tell him about that fight in the first place – God knows why I did, anyway – and I don’t want to tell him about what happened right before my best friend died. And yet here I am, doing exactly that. “She’d consider it if we could talk about… about the shit the fight was about.”

 He gives me a slow nod. “And you said you would?”

 I give him a shrug. “Yeah. I even meant it. So she nodded and said, we’d talk after the mission and I said okay and then it just…. we never…” Fuck, I wish this wouldn’t still happen. Almost a year and I still can’t just spell it out. That never happened before. Not when my brother died, not when my father died, never. It’s pissing me off that I somehow don’t have the balls to just…

 “I miss her, too.” Huh?

 I blink, looking at Lorne. I never… heard him say that before. Never heard him tell me that, in that weirdly serious, quite voice. And I realize that I’ve been an even bigger idiot than I thought I’d been. Because, thing is: I didn’t just not talk about it with Dee. I didn’t talk about it with _anyone_ , for a long time. And to be completely honest, I still haven’t talked about it with anyone else but Reece and Dee. Despite knowing full well that _Lorne_ had been her friend, too. Lorne, Charlie, Anna. They’d all been her friends. Fuck, I truly am that asshole I like to make everyone think I am. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for not sticking it out at the SGC.”

 That, for some mysterious reason, makes him… give me a humorless little laugh. What the _fuck_? “Don’t be. Wouldn’t have ended pretty, anyway.”

 Oh. Yeah. Well. Not like he’s wrong. Can’t help mirroring his damn laugh. “ _God_ , no.”

 He wants to reply something, probably telling me all the ways I could have seriously fucked up things at the SGC had I had the guts to stay but he gets interrupted by the control room telling him that the _Daedalus_ will shortly be in orbit and he goes back to being all temporary CO, confirming in his official sounding superior voice and then looks at me, simply saying, “You got a teammate coming in.” Huh? “You might wanna show her the courtesy of being there when she beams in after a nine week absence?”

 That _bastard_. I can’t believe he’d really go there. Now I can’t even back out of it, like I’d originally planned because truth be told, I’m still not really sure what to make of the new Reece, the _Captain_ Reece I barely seem to know. I… “Make up your damn mind, Major.”

 Oh hell. “Fuck you, Lorne.” He’s about to give me an earful about how that’s not gonna fly anymore, I just bet is, but hey, _you_ started it. “Last one to the Control Room takes security rotations for a month!”

 Yeah, showed you, didn’t I?

 Except, in the end, he beats me to it. Narrowly, but he goddamn beats me, goddamn Area 51, making me all soft. That’s gonna be a bitch to explain to my team, I guess.

 At least he doesn’t have time to gloat because the first wave of personnel has been beamed in already and look who we have there. One red-and-curly-haired female marine, humping a backpack and a duffle bag, shaking hands all around. Then she deigns looking at me and my first instinct is to break out in a grin, walk right up to her and engulf her in a bear hug.

 But yeah, at some point over the last year, I must have picked up _some_ kind of smarts because in the end, all I do is saunter over to her, hands in the pockets of my uniform pants, keeping my face carefully neutral, while telling her, “You’re late, Kid.” Because she damn well is. They were supposed to get here three days ago, after all.

 Lorne, next to me, is probably about to launch into an explanation as to how there is _no_ way that this could _possibly_ be Reece’s fault but she beats him to it, stating in a carefully casual voice, “Sorry, sir. We ran into a bit of trouble along the way.” Yeah, _that’_ s the understatement of the year. I’m not sure what _exactly_ happened but apparently, I’m already on the crew to unfuck whatever happened to the computers on the _Daedalus_. Lucky me.

 I’m about to reply something or other but Lorne’s faster, giving her a professionally friendly smile and asking, “How was DC?”

 I’m almost ready to get really jealous because _something_ in that question sounds like this is some insider joke between them or something. Then again, Lorne always had a bit of a soft spot for her, right from when he caught me looking at her personnel jacket and told me to give her a chance. And I’m still not sure whether to be grateful for it or hate him for it.

 Reece shrugs. “Hard work and utilitarian quarters, sir.”

 “So a Marine’s idea of fun, huh?” And now she gets a grin out of him. Goddammit.  

 “It’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it.” Well, look at how _someone_ finally lost her shyness around field grades. Or at least around field grades she has known since the SGC. And why can’t I shake the feeling that there’s something going on here I’m not privy to?

 “That’s why we keep Marines around in the first place.” He sticks out his hand. “Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

 She takes it, adding a kind of surprising, “That’s Captain, sir.”

 Holy hell. I give her an unbelieving look, and a dumb question, “They actually made it permanent?”

 Again, she shrugs but I can see that this means more to her than just a mere formality. “Not sure what part of his soul Sheppard sold off but yeah, they did, for everyone he promoted during the siege.”

 Well, hell. She fucking deserves it. Now I can’t help it and do grin after all, sticking out my hand at her. “Congratulations, Kid.”

 She takes it, giving it a short squeeze and I realize what an idiot move that was. Because I damn well nearly pulled her into that damn hug, after all. In the middle of the goddamn Control Room. “Thank you, sir.”

 “Are you going to introduce us, Captain?” Huh, what?

 Oh. Oh, right. There’s another Marine next to her, strawberry blonde, wide mouth, definitely looking like she’s up to no good. Uh-oh.

 Reece blinks at Lorne for a moment, then seems to have remembered the redhead next to her. “Oh, of course, sorry.” Then she straightens up a little, like she always does when she’s either about to say something let’s say controversial or about to get formal. This time, it’s the latter.  “Majors, might I introduce Lieutenant Laura Cadman, US Marine Corps, my bunkmate on the _Daedalus_.” What the fuck? Another Laura? And what does she mean by “bunkmate”? Why does “bunkmate” sound like “new best friend”? And why do I instantaneously have a bad feeling about this? “Laura, these are Major Evan Lorne and Major Thomas Moore, the contingent’s XO and my team’s CO, respectively.”

 The red-haired lieutenant gives both of us a curt nod, but doesn’t salute. Cheeky, are we? “Major Lorne, sir. Major Moore.”

 Lorne, for his part nods back at her, sounding oddly formal when acknowledging her. “Lieutenant.”

 I’m about to say something stupid about Reece apparently being a magnet for officers named Laura – which _definitely_ would be too soon, considering that it’s been a little less than three months that she has learned about that other Laura having died because I was too much of a coward to stand up to my best friend just _once_ – but she beats me to it and probably saves me from making a complete ass out of myself in the process. “If you’ll please excuse us, I’d like to help Lieutenant Cadman here getting settled in before I have to get back to work because Colonel Sheppard thinks it’s funny to task company grades with newbie base security and off-world conduct briefings, and I have a rather contentious relationship with PowerPoint.”

 Funny enough, that’s a big ass understatement. Anyone who’s never had the pleasure of watching Maureen Reece wrestle with PowerPoint has missed out on some serious fun. I mean, not fun for _her_ but for everyone else around.

 Lorne, for his part, manages to keep a straight face – he _has_ seen her fight it out with PowerPoint at least once – and instead goes for the all-business XO, dismissing two junior officers. “You may be excused, Captain. Lieutenant.”

 Reece then simply throws both of us a casual two-finger salute – again that kind of weirds me out because back at the SGC, she’d _never_ have given two superior officers that kind of sloppy salute… in fact, she’d probably rather have died than not show higher-ranking officers their due respect – then indicates for the lieutenant to follow her with a jerk of her head. The lieutenant hoists her duffle bag, just like Reece does and turns to follow her and just when I’m about to say something stupid about not being sure whether Reece having found a new friend is a good thing or not, I hear the new lieutenant say something I wouldn’t, not in a million years, have expected from a damn newbie. She actually, audibly, tells Reece, “You know, when you said you thought the XO would be cool to work with… you totally neglected to tell me that he’s also pretty damn _hot_.”

  _Jesus_ fucking Christ, this is too good to be true. Because Evan Lorne, the most unflappable man I have ever encountered, with one of the best poker faces outside of the Black Ops community, just honest to God _blushed_. I’m this close to bursting out laughing, I nearly miss Reece replying, “Have I? Must have totally slipped my mind,” in a totally unassuming voice, before disappearing in the crowd. She doesn’t turn around, and neither does the lieutenant, but I swear to God, she knows _exactly_ what’s going on behind her back and she goddamn _enjoys_ that. She’s gotten downright scary here and right now, I’m loving every minute of it, God help me.

 Because Lorne’s face is _still_ beet red and he’s still sputtering around to find words and holy hell, I can’t believe this is happening but he’s _attracted_ to the lieutenant. She’s not even his type, as far as I can remember, but oh my God, he damn well finds her hot and he’d probably rather have sawed off his tongue than ever even let only a smidgen of that show if this just hadn’t happened. I’m almost sure that at least _Reece_ knows what she just fucking handed me on a damn _silver platter_ and oh God, this is just too good. So good that the only thing I can do is to barely keep from laughing my ass off while telling him, “Fuck, Lorne. You. Are. So. _Screwed_.” Because he is, oh God, he so _is_.

 And from the dark look he throws me, he damn well knows that. Which just makes all of this even better. “You really have _no_ reason to find this funny. You’re going down with me, all the way.” 

 That’s true, of course. If that little scene was any indication, Reece and that new lieutenant are, for some reason, already thick as thieves, and believe me when I say that there’s a _lot_ of shit two female US Marine Corps company grades smart enough to rate a posting in Atlantis can do to you when they decide to join forces. Still, I can’t stop finding this funny as hell. “Sure,” I tell him, having trouble to contain my laughter for another few minutes at least, “but it will be _so_ worth it.”

 Privately, I’m not so sure – because for some reason, I’m starting to find the new and improved Reece who seems so much surer of who she is and what she can do even hotter than her SGC self, every time I’m not vaguely scared of her, that is – but there’s no way I’m ever going to tell him or anyone else about that.

 He narrows his eyes and for a moment, I almost expect him to just spell it out, anyway but then he just says, “Just go and make fun of someone else. _Some_ people have to work here.”

 Right. _Someone_ is really grumpy all of a sudden. I consider just screwing it and keeping it up just a little longer – because honestly, it’s just too damn funny how he tries to make me believe that the new lieutenant didn’t totally give him the hots, if even just for a short moment before remembering that save Sheppard, he’s _everyone_ ’s goddamn CO here – but then I see Sheppard approaching us from behind his back and just give Lorne a heads-up, jerking my head towards Sheppard telling Lorne, “Looks like the boss wants a word with his new minion. Better get your head back in the game, buddy!”

 I don’t wait for his answer, just turn around and actually manage to keep myself in check right up until I leave the Control Room and can _finally_ practically break down laughing quietly. Shit, I actually have to stop and lean my back against the wall because it’s just so damn funny.

 Good God, Laura would have loved that, and – and this is the weirdest thing about this – for the first time in nearly a year, that thought isn’t tainted by guilt and grief, just the wish that she’d have been here to witness it and I realize that I genuinely will have to thank both Reece and the new lieutenant for that. And hey, maybe I even will. _Maybe_. When I’m done laughing.

 Holy _hell_.

~*~

„Two are sailing the seas,  
Two are sailing in the same boat.  
One knows the stars,  
One measures the lead.  
Can’t be separated, stay united,  
Doesn’t matter if night falls, morning dawns.  
They find each other –  
for life.”

Puhdys, “Lifetime”


	7. Just Small Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good thing about being on Thomas Moore's team is always having front row seats to watch him piss off Evan Lorne, as Matthias Morsberg is about to discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, that was fast? Huh. 
> 
> Timeline wise, we're at maybe a few hours after Lorne getting shot in Runner, so according to the Stargate Wiki at a week after The Intruder and no one actually thought Tom would pass up such a prime opportunity to haze his favorite XO, did you?

**Just Small Accidents**

_„Denker und Genies_   
_Intellektuelle_   
_Sport und Politik_   
_Ganze Pressebälle_   
_Rom, Berlin, Paris_   
_Wir sind ursprünglich nur_   
_Kleine Zwischenfälle.“_

_Annett Louisan, „Kleine Zwischenfälle“_

 Ah, Earth food. In Atlantis. I’m not sure how long it’s been that I had _that_ pleasure. It’s almost a worthy trade-off for having had to endure nine weeks with Thomas Moore as my boss without having Maureen as a buffer. But okay, in the last three weeks of her absence we kinda learned to get along with each other, if not _like_ each other. Still, nine weeks was a _long_ time, but at least we got _actual food_ out of it. I didn’t even know it was humanly possible to miss a good steak, from an actual cow that walked on an actual Earth pasture, fed by actual Earth grass, until we ran out of Earth food at about halfway through the first year.

 Anyway, the _Daedalus_ brought _lots_ of lovely new supplies on their last run and… “Hey, Doc, mind of we sit down?”

 Right. The day _was_ going too well until now. Something _had_ to happen to screw it up. And Majors Moore and Lorne happening upon me during lunch definitely counts as “screwing up my day”. Where are Maureen and DeLisle when you need them? I give Moore a dead-pan look. “Do I have a choice, sir?”

 Lorne raises one eyebrow, while Moore gives me a smirk. “Always, Doc. Always.” So… “But really, miss our scintillating conversationalist skills? Who’d even _want_ that?”

 There’s a snort from Lorne, while they’re both sitting down, and then a smirk mirroring Moore’s. “How long did you practice _that_ one, Tom?”

 I almost expect Moore to give back something equally scathing – honestly, I wouldn’t have credited straight-forward dutiful no-nonsense Lorne with so much bite but then again, Maureen told me that he shares years of personal history with Moore – but then he instead goes for a really mean change of topic, „So… I heard you already lost your boss on your first real mission here.”

 “Fuck off.” Yeah, he deserved that. I wisely keep my mouth shut but I fully agree with Lorne. He’s been a good interim contingent CO, especially considering that apparently, this is his first XO posting for anything larger than an SG team and that he had to wrangle a contingent that’s exclusively either clueless newbies or salty old hands who know way more about his job than he does.

 Moore makes a benevolent, encouraging face. Ass. “Hey, that’s okay, really. Could happen to anyone. Right, Doc?”

 What, no, keep _me_ out of this? I’m just sitting here and enjoying this admittedly mediocre steak – or at least it would be mediocre on Earth but trust me, here it’s a solid nine at least – and trying not to get involved in a spat between two of my superior officers.

 Lorne at least has some pretty clear words for my team leader. “Fuck you.” That’s the only right answer, anyway.

 Of course, that doesn’t deter Moore in the slightest and he just plows on. “Say, that’s a nice tan you have developed there.”

  _Why_ did they have to sit down here?

 “Tom.”

 Urge to forego the steak intensifying. _Greatly_.

 “You finally look like someone from California again.”

 And yet, I can’t look away. This is the entire definition of a damn train wreck happening right before my eyes.

 “ _Tom_.”

 Also, it’s kind of nice seeing Moore pick on someone else for a change. Even if it’s a common superior officer in front of one of _his_ subordinates which even I know to be kind of bad form.

 “Although, it looks a little like…”

 But it’s still starting to be kind of amusing?

 “Dammit, Tom, I just had to spend way too many hours in the company of Rodney fucking McKay searching for a trained weapons specialist before I got _shot_ by a crazy Marine hopped up on Wraith enzyme, I’m _really_ not in the mood for your usual brand of assholery.” And I suddenly have some new found respect for Major Lorne. Some _more_ new found respect. Anyone else would probably be yelling at this point in the conversation, and they’d have every right to. Lorne kept his voice down and just added a really dangerous edge and some gritted teeth. That’s an epic level of self-control right there.

 Impressive enough that it effectively shuts up Moore long enough for me to get two bites of steak down and Lorne to get started on his piece of meatloaf before Moore grins around his curry and says, between chewing on the chicken bites in it, “Getting shot was the best part of this entire thing, wasn’t it?”

 “ _God_ , yes.” Okay, wow. That’s an interesting level of emphatic enunciation. Then again… I already heard about how Lorne ended up getting shot while walking around that weird half-dark planet with McKay in tow – why even does Sheppard hate his poor XO enough to pair him with possibly the most insufferable member of this entire Expedition, and this _includes_ my boss – from one of the German NCOs who accompanied them on that trip, and even though it was mostly second-hand, I already felt bad for Lorne. I had my own run-ins with McKay, and despite a few epiphanies last year, he’s still the one guy on the Command staff I want as little to do with as possible. “Honestly, if that lieutenant hadn’t shot me, _I_ probably would have shot _McKay_. Please forget I ever said that, Doc.”

 Huh? Oh, right, yeah, Lorne isn’t supposed to say stuff like that, _especially_ not with lower echelon servicemembers sitting around. I take another bite of steak, then tell him, hopefully sounding convincingly oblivious, “Said what, sir?”

 There’s an appreciative look from Lorne, and words that sound surprisingly sincere and only a little like banter, “I really hope you appreciate what you have in your team members, Tom.”

 Moore for his part swallows and then says, giving me a half-grin that looks weirdly chummy, and I realize that in a twisted way, we _are_ chums. United in our mutual dislike and the hard work it takes to still have a functioning team. He follows it by an amused smirk. “I do, don’t I, Doc?”

 Oh come on, that’s just a dirty move. I roll my eyes and can _just_ keep myself from making a face at him. “Can’t complain, sir.”

 I’m not sure whether that look just told me he appreciates me playing along like that or whether he’s a little disappointed that I wouldn’t pick up the bone he threw me. “See? And anyway, I _promise_ you, we would _all_ have had your back.”

 Okay, on _that_ we agree. I nod at Lorne. “Absolutely, sir.”

 It makes Lorne lean back and make a sufficiently humble face. “I actually appreciate that very much, thank you.”

 “You’re welcome.” There’s a certain grating amount of largesse to Moore’s little hand gesture and the tone of his voice when he says that and I honestly wonder if he’s always been that way and if yes, how Lorne managed to stay his friends ever since they went to the Academy together. And _not_ kill him at some point.

 Lorne, for his part, nods and… then rolls his eyes and gives Moore a dead-pan look. “…you will still make fun of me for this for the rest of your tour here, won’t you?”

 And yep, there it is. That bright, smug grin that is guaranteed to keep Moore from going places higher than field grade. “Every chance I get.”

 Lorne does this thing with clenching his jaw that seems to be his signature “this displeases me and someone needs to get hurt” facial expression. I’m kind of glad that I’m _not_ the recipient right now. “I hate you.”

 My team leader, though, doesn’t seem to be that concerned about Lorne’s mood. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

 To be honest, by now it very much looks like this is some kind of standard thing they like to do and without which they get bored really fast, and that would match what Maureen told me about them when I asked her about what to expect from the new XO, now that the contingent is easing into a semblance of routine. I’m still not sure whether it’s a good thing that our team leader is friends with the XO or not. Probably not.

 Still, it might let me get away with that I’m about to add after Lorne and Moore are through with their little ritual. “On behalf of all First Wavers, sir… please just shoot McKay next time?”

 Alright. From the looks both of them are shooting me, I might _not_ get away with… “Did we miss anything?”

 Oh thank _God_. I can honestly say that I was never gladder to see Maureen and DeLisle approach my mess hall table than right now. Where have they been, anyway? And why can’t I just keep my mouth shut instead of saying, as casually as possible, “Only our team leader pissing off our superior officer.”

 Maureen puts her tray – I see she went with the steak, too, good choice, Captain, good choice – down, rolls her eyes, then says, sitting down, “Oh good, more full rotation security and surveillance shifts for us, yay.” Uh-huh. Wait for it, waaait for it… “What?” Yup, there it is. The moment when she realizes that everyone at the table is looking quizzically at her. At least that takes everyone’s attention away from _me_. She makes a face. “Ugh, crap, I did it again, didn’t I?” Totally, and it seems you’re starting to rub off on _me_.

 Lorne seems to need a moment to get over Maureen doing her “talk first, think later” thing but then gets up, grinning at her. “Never change, Captain, just… never change.” I expect Maureen to blush, and she does but she also gives Lorne a small slightly amused grin and _what_ is that private joke that they share? I’ve seen evidence of Lorne having a bit of a soft spot for Maureen – nothing romantic, just genuinely liking her and getting along well with her – but I’m really finding this puzzling. From the dark look he’s throwing both of them, Moore does, too. “And neither should you, Stabsarzt.” Hä, was, ich? “Congratulations, Tom. You got _exactly_ the team you deserve.”

 And with that… Lorne just squeezes Moore’s shoulder and exits, quietly laughing to himself. What the _fuck_ was that supposed to be?

 Around the table, everyone, even DeLisle – who seems to be the designated stoic in this team who never loses his cool and is almost impossible to read – seems to share my bewilderment, and it’s Maureen who breaks the silence in the end, gesturing a little with her fork while she talks and throwing Moore an uncomprehending look. “I’m… confused, and you’ve known Major Lorne the longest of all of us, sir, so… please explain to us: was that an insult to _you_ or to _us_?”

 Moore’s answer is a low longsuffering sigh and shaking his head. “Honestly, Kid? I have no idea.” I’m inclined to believe him. And yes, it does warm my heart a little that Lorne managed to one up this guy in the end. I have a feeling that’s something that happens more often than Moore would like, and it was a bit of a pleasure being there to witness it, possibly having been insulted myself in the process notwithstanding. “Tell me when you find out?”

 Maureen gives him a dead-pan look but seems to have decided not to comment on it further. Instead she says, “So… _are_ we back more than one round of 3S next week or not?”

 I can’t help it. I find myself shaking my head, pointing to Moore and saying, “He made fun of Lorne for getting shot on that mission McKay yesterday.”

 Maureen makes an exasperated and kind of desperate face. “Oh God, _please_ tell me you didn’t really do that, sir.”

And then Moore puts up his hands defensively and has to admit that he did and Maureen doesn’t care about him being her boss and gives him grief for adding stupid surveillance and security shifts to our workload when both she and I still has to give newbie briefings because Sheppard made _all_ of us First Wavers from Captain and Sergeant upwards give them and DeLisle weighs in with a few pointed comments and Moore keeps defending himself and then recounting the entire exchange and somehow, at some point, strangely, this lunch a week after Maureen finally coming back from Earth and joining the team is the first time that it doesn’t feel like four random people sitting together, and that’s… actually not so bad? Even… nice?

 To be honest, I still have my doubts as to this whole thing working out when we break it up so I can go back to teaching newly arrived biologists the finer points of Pegasus specific first aid, Maureen can go back to giving “How Not To Fuck Up First Encounters” and “So You’re A Marine In Atlantis” briefings to all the little Marine Corps lieutenants, DeLisle goes off to put a few newbie AFSOC hotshots in their place in the work-out room and Moore goes off to put the fear of God in some IT security violators. But _something_ felt different today. Maybe… maybe this is going to go better than I would have given all of us credit for?

~*~

“Thinkers and geniuses  
Intellectuals  
Sports and Politics  
Entire Press Dinners  
Rome, Berlin, Paris  
We’re all just  
Small accidents.”

Annett Louisan, “Small Accidents”


	8. Shoot Your Gun So Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing Maureen realizes you have to get used to when you make Captain: suddenly being the mentor, not the mentee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hokay, sorry for taking so long, I had to take care of a bunny for a later episode first. But yay, it's here now. I'm not entirely satisfied with it because I'm not sure I nailed both issues _and_ I accidentally wrote myself a prompt for another story I didn't intend on writing (you'll see what I mean when you read it) *rolls eyes
> 
> Timeline wise, this is a week after "Duet", and I _think_ maybe two weeks after "Runner"/ _Just Small Accidents_. We should be something like four months or so into S2 at this point, and honestly, continuously having to rememember that entire _Daedalus_ thing and the three months it took is really fucking with my timelines *rolls eyes

** Shoot Your Gun So Straight ** _  
_

_“Spin me some sad story_   
_Sell me some excuse_   
_To help me understand the things you do_   
_‘Cause the way you treat your lovers_   
_Well I just can’t relate_   
_Well where’d you learn to shoot your gun so straight?”  
_

_22-20s, “Shoot Your Gun”_

 Rule number one when you’re on an off-world team: get yourself some friends outside of that team. Trust me. It’s really important. I didn’t the first time around and that _was_ stupid. Because having friends outside of your team means that you have even more people to accompany you to the shooting range and beat you in every single weapon. That and that you have someone you can bitch to about your team mates without throwing them under the bus or knowing it’ll get back to them eventually.

 And sometimes even do both things at the same time.

 Right now, for example, I’m at the Atlantis outdoor shooting range on the south pier with First Lieutenant Laura Cadman, my current most favorite newbie lieutenant. Which, yes, is still a little surprising considering how we basically had a two-week bitch fest on the _Daedalus_ before we came to an accords of sorts. But Laura Cadman grows on you, and really, it’s nice to be friends with someone who _didn’t_ know me either at the SGC or in my first year here and just assumes that I’m actually somewhat competent at what I’m doing.

 Okay, _that_ might actually change once we’re done here. I have definitely gotten better, and my SGC self would probably break down crying at the scores I’m shooting in this galaxy, thinking she’d never even come close but Jesus, Cadman’s scores are off the charts. This woman is definitely shooting at Expert Marksmanship level, both rifle and pistol, and she’s doing it _here_. _Outside_. We’ve been at it for an hour now, methodically going through all the tables for US Marine Corps marksmanship badge qualifications and not really made any headway and guess who’s up for her annual re-qualification next month and doesn’t want to train with her team for fear of revealing herself as being unable to qualify above a very middling “sharpshooter” in both rifle and pistol?

 That’s right: _not_ Laura Cadman.

 So we’re stuck out here, trying to get my scores up so the evaluation won’t be as embarrassing as I’m currently afraid of – trust me, it’s not fun falling short of anything the Major expects from you, and I’m getting the bad feeling that after the events of the siege and my promotion, he’s expecting a _lot_ from me – and having a very frustrating experience instead. And that’s exactly how it’s been going so far.

 Right now, we’re doing nine-millimeter stationary target drill, meaning that I’m shooting my Beretta at vaguely human shaped silhouettes in varying distances from a standing stationary position and that’s _exactly_ as tedious as it sounds, _especially_ when you’ve been doing it for twenty minutes straight because you just can’t seem to hit that _one_ target fifteen meters away, no matter _how_ close you are to your instructor’s advice. I have a pretty high frustration tolerance, but this is starting to get _ridiculous_. I glare at the target, trying to hit the damn thing for the fifteenth time. “Two more unsuccessful attempts, and I’m going to rip this thing apart with my bare hands.”

 In my ear, there’s a low chuckle, coming through the radio earpiece I wear beneath the ear protection muffs, and if I didn’t know that Cadman gave up precious time she could have spent somewhere private with Dr. Beckett and if I weren’t so damn grateful for that, I’d rip _her_ apart with my bare hands, too. “I’m telling you, you’re taking all of this _way_ too serious. Raise your gun a _little_ higher.”

 I am not taking this “way too serious”. I am, apparently, not taking it serious enough. Because when I spent the second half of the magazine at it, I still only get four graze shots and four total misses, despite following Cadman’s instructions. I can’t help growling, “Fucking hell,” under my breath.

 “Seriously, Maureen, you’re _good_.” Have we been spending the last hour in the same universe? “All you need to do is stop taking this so damn hard. What _exactly_ is your problem?”

 I lower my sidearm and glower at Cadman through my tactical glasses, before reloading it for another time. Pretty sure the armory sergeant is going to hate me for the rest of her tour. “My _problem_ is that I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t shoot Expert in both weapons in a week.”

 She shrugs. “So what? It’s not like they can do anything as long as you pass. And honestly, that badge? No one’s gonna see it _here_ , anyway.”

 That’s not wrong because we basically never wear service dress here – and trust me, this is possibly the best thing about Atlantis – but there’s just this one tiny thing. “It’s a small contingent, Laura. People will know, anyway.” She knows that. _Everyone_ knows that. And acting blasé about the badge is just for my benefit. She cares about shooting Expert just as insanely as the next Marine, and being female Marines, both of us know the double pressure to perform better than our male peers to be seen as half as competent. It’s not as bad out here because most Marines assigned here are… different from Big Corps but you still get the occasional idiot, and something like that – the internalized demand of outperforming male Marines – doesn’t go away just like that. “And most importantly, my _boss_ will know.”

 She frowns. “Your team leader? The guy who had his ass saved by you at least twice during the siege and another time last week during, you know, the incident? You’re worried about _that_ guy?”

 Damn straight I am. Exactly _because_ I saved his ass maybe once or twice. “Yes, Laura. I’m worried about _that_ guy.” I crick my neck and take aim, _again_. “He _taught_ me to shoot back at the SGC. I barely qualified Marksman before being dragged to the shooting range by members of my SG team three times a week. He’s going to expect nothing but perfect scores _because_ I managed to avoid being an idiot in combat a few times here.”

 There’s a faint sound of realization next to me. “Oh, _right_. That history thing again.” Yeah, that history thing. I haven’t told her much about it but she does know that I used to serve with Dee and the Major back at the SGC. So far, she thankfully stayed away from… “So, what’s the story with you and Major Tall, Dark and Dangerous, anyway?” And there goes _that_.

 I grit my teeth and give her the only possible answer, still aiming at the target and trying to get a grip on my breathing. “No story.”

 Now a low snort. “Are you sure? Because I could have sworn, from the way he looks at you and you…” Yes. Yes, I’m sure. I’m _positive_ , dammit. “Shit, Maureen, _try_ to relax when you aim?”

 The next time she tells me to relax, I’m going to go ballistic. On _her_. I actually take the time to look away from the target and glare at her. “Easy for _you_ to say.” Then I turn back to aiming and… no, okay, this other thing needs to be addressed. In fact, it needs  to be nipped in the bud. “And there _is no story_. Also, he’s not dangerous.”

 I hear her snort into her radio mic again. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.” I’m not even sure which of the two things I just told her she means, and I’ve got the bad feeling that it’s both. She neither believes that there’s no story between the Major and me – and _technically_ , there isn’t… or, let’s say, it depends on the _definition_ of “story” – nor that he’s not “dangerous”. Which is totally true. _If_ you are on his side. And then she adds the one thing guaranteed to piss me off, “Okay, you really need a break.”

 I take down the weapon again and make sure the safety is on before I do exactly what I just announced. “For fuck’s sake, Laura, we only booked this thing for…”

 “No, break. Now.” What? Nuh-uh, this is not how this works.

 “Sure as hell not, we gotta…”

 “Break.” And she… I can’t believe she just did that but she grabbed the damn Beretta and took it right out of my hand, going through the motions of gun safety by making sure the safety is on, taking the magazine out, taking the safety off and aiming and shooting at the nearest target to make sure there’s no projectile left in the gun, all completely cool, methodical and fast, before taking off her ear protection muffs and ballistic glasses and then asking me, as if we were just in the middle of a totally different conversation, “So, what about Major Tall, Dark and Dangerous?”

 I’m _this_ close to going ape shit on her… and that’s what tells me the most galling thing about this: that she’s right. I _desperately_ need a damn break, to unwind and cool off. My scores were getting shittier with every attempt, anyway and it would just have gotten worse if she hadn’t put the brakes on this, so in the end, I pull off the earmuffs and glasses as well and give her a disgruntled look. “Stop with the dangerous thing, seriously.”

 She walks over to where we put our bags, pulling out two bottles of water and handing me one and taking a sip from the other, grinning and then telling me, “Yeah, right. That guy’s got Special Forces written all over him”

 It makes me roll my eyes. “That’s because he is.” Mh. Actually, that’s kind of up for debate. He’s still a Special Tactics Officer but not really… _in_ Special Forces anymore, right? I amend my statement a little. “Or was, anyway. Doesn’t make him dangerous, though.” It doesn’t. Not even his knife keeping habit makes him particularly dangerous. He knows how to handle them, and most people don’t even know about it because he usually keeps them where nobody can see them. And yes, he’s _good_ in combat, and, yes, _dangerous_ but that doesn’t mean he’s dangerous _per se_.

 The only thing that does make him dangerous… “Okay, then. Would Major Tall, Dark and Handsome be a better fit?” is that. The fact that he’s pretty much a pretty good-looking guy. Okay, that and the fact that when he isn’t driving me absolutely bat-shit crazy by being an idiot and/or an arrogant asshole, he’s a loyal and understanding guy who takes his job seriously and would damn well risk his career and his life to catch a damn bullet for any of his team mates. Major Thomas Moore is, underneath it all, a good guy who doesn’t look half bad to boot.

 There is, of course, approximately no reason at all to tell Cadman any of that. We don’t know each other _that_ well. I roll my eyes again. “Seriously?”

 She has a damn grin on her face now, one that is _suggestive_ , and if I didn’t actually like her, I’d probably be tempted to violently wipe it off her face right now. “You gotta admit, your boss isn’t exactly _ugly_.” Cadman, _no_. This is not playing fair. “Oh come on, look me in the eye and tell me you _never_ thought “Pity he’s my boss, 10/10, would totally make out with” during a workout session.”

 “No, I…” Fuck it, I can’t even lie. We have known each other for roughly a month and a half, and _everything_ in her face tells me that she saw right through that attempt, the moment I opened my mouth. _Dammit_. “Alright, fine. Yes. Once.” There, that… no, of course she doesn’t believe that. And why should she? It’s not true, at all. “Twice.” Yup, still ready to call bullshit. _Fucking hell_. “A few times. I’m only human, okay?” Seriously, it’s not like I’m the _only_ one who probably thought that? I have eyes in my head, I have _seen_ the looks members of the SGC and the Atlantis expedition of varying genders have thrown him. Also, honestly, “Why are _you_ even looking at my boss? You’re in a damn relationship!”

 She makes a face. What? You _are_. Have been only for maybe a week but come on, _everyone_ knows you and Dr. Beckett are fucking doing it, ever since they got you out of Rodney McKay’s head. “It’s kinda hard not noticing your boss, considering you’re with him in some capacity half the time I’m talking to you.”

 Jesus fucking Christ. “Laura!”

 “What?” Stop with the fake obliviousness. You know full well why that was a stupid comment!

 Oh yes, she does. She just likes to needle me to find out whatever is going on between the Major and me. And that’s easy because it’s nothing. _Nothing_ is going on between him and me. You know, aside from this, “That’s because _I’m on his team_. I’m his damn XO.” She just gives me the raised eyebrows, not _quite_ suggestively this time. I roll my eyes. “Yes, that means we spend a lot of time with each other. Professionally.” And then… I realize what this is all about. Somehow, this is when I finally get an idea what she’s really trying to do here, and because this friendship has had a solid grounding in straight forward honesty, I don’t waste any time beating around the bush and confront her with my epiphany right away. “Also, stop trying to make me believe that whole sharing another person’s consciousness thing didn’t fuck you up.”

 She shakes her head and takes a sip from her bottle of water. “It didn’t. Not really, anyway.”

 Yeaaaah no. It’s my turn to throw around disbelieving looks. “And how am I supposed to believe _that_?”

 “It really didn’t.” She shrugs, and… I almost believe her. Even though she basically lived through what would be every Expedition member’s worst nightmare, I _almost_ believe her when she tells me, yet again, that it didn’t fuck her up. And then she still manages to surprise me. “Being on the verge of disappearing did.” 

 Yeah. I should have expected that. I don’t know the _full_ details of what went down a week ago because we’d been away on a multi-day intelligence gathering mission disguised as a MEDCAP to several ally settlements on a couple planets when Laura had been trapped inside Rodney McKay’s head due to some Wraith dart beaming technology malfunction. But I did read the mission report and yes, somewhere in there it said that Cadman was very close to ceasing existing. It was just in a sub-clause, some addendum to a lot of techno and medical babble but yes, I found it. I just didn’t think of it until she reminded me of it a minute ago. “Laura…”

 Again, she shrugs but this time, it’s a very transparent attempt at looking casual about it and failing spectacularly. “It’s fine.”

 Uh-huh. No. “I don’t think it is.” If it were, she wouldn’t try so desperately not to talk about it. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me about it, that’s fine. We haven’t been friends for that long and…”

 “It’s not you.” Has there ever been a _good_ continuation of that phrase? _Ever_? “In fact, you know, if I did want to talk about it or _knew_ how to talk about it, you’d be the person I’d go to.” What? “It’s just… it’s… it was…”

 “Scary.” I didn’t even have to phrase it as a question. Because I honestly don’t know what exactly _she_ went through, but I know about encounters with stuff that fucks with your mind. “It was really fucking scary.”

 She takes a moment. Then nods. And then makes a face, again. “And Marines don’t do scared.”

 That’s it. She’s right. I just didn’t realize it’s so much more of an issue for her than it was for me. I never really was in that gung-ho oorah running towards the sounds of chaos let’s blow shit up Marines mindset because from the moment I signed up at the recruiter station, I was so sure that I wouldn’t be serving anywhere even near combat because that was before the Twin Towers collapsed and back then, linguists tended to end up in embassies and at the Defense Language Institute rather than battlefields, even theoretical ones, and I didn’t get half a chance to be even considered for deployment to the Middle East or Afghanistan after getting my commission because I got the transfer to the SGC faster than I could spell that and only landed in a combat rich environment because some bastards wanted to plant me there to fuck everything up royally. Pure coincidence, basically.

 Cadman, though, she’s the real deal. She’s like Crown and Cuevas and Strickland, one of those female Marines who, right from the get-go, angled for an MOS as close to combat as was humanly possible, given the circumstances. If you just give her a passing glance, you’d not peg her as Marine because she has the disadvantage – and yes, in the Corps, that _is_ a disadvantage, especially for a lieutenant – of being pretty, feminine and outgoing but scratch at that only a little and there’s a razor-wire eating, napalm-breathing Marine loving her job and wanting to be taken just as a seriously as any male Marine lieutenant. Someone like that doesn’t do scared. Someone like that _isn’t_ scared.

 Except, “We should, though.” The look she gives me is half-way between irritated and confused. And I realize that for the first time in my life, I’m not the one who needs to be mentored. For the first time in my life – Rivers totally doesn’t count because I mostly just accepted his apology and told him that he did the right thing in offering it to me – I’m the one who’s truly needed to mentor someone. Now _I’m_ scared. “I know everyone keeps telling us that words like “fear” and “dread” don’t exist in a Marine’s vocabulary but that’s bullshit. They do, and they should, because there’s a reason they exist. I haven’t been through what you have been through but I’ve had something equally scary and traumatizing happening to me a while back. And I still wish I’d have admitted to myself that I was still scared shitless after it was over and that I needed help way sooner than I sought it.”

 There. I said it. I admitted to someone I haven’t known for longer than a few months that I made a mistake with waiting so long for getting help after the brainwashing fiasco. I even still haven’t fully admitted that to the Major and Dee, and I now wonder if it was a mistake telling Cadman that when not even the parts of my team who had to suffer because I didn’t seek help as soon as I should have, know about the full extent of my regret.

 Cadman, for her part, seems to need a moment or two to think. Then, when I almost expect her to tell me that I have no business comparing anything that happened to me to something that happened to her, she surprises me again, by asking me, way more quietly and seriously than her usual brazen, extroverted persona, “What happened?”

 I consider telling her that it doesn’t compare in any way to what happened to her, just to deflect and get out of having to talk about something I’d rather not revisit but I realize that that wouldn’t be fair. I can’t start mentoring her and then chicken out when it gets too close to home for me.

 So in the end, I sit down on the floor of the pier, telling her to get comfortable and tell her the entire story of how I got abducted and brainwashed during my senior year, only a few weeks after signing up for the Marines, as we later found out, how I started out at the SGC after being planted there, of how that recon mission to infiltrate the rogue NID and Marines went south, all the way to me shooting the bad guy and then almost blowing a hole into my – or, you know, the Major’s – head and how they righted the brainwashing thing but only made me go to mandatory counseling for a few superficial sessions. And how I froze during that botched training mission and missed my chance to end it _before_ it turned into an even bigger clusterfuck, and how that nearly got the Major and me killed.

 When I’m done, it takes her a few minutes to process it all. Then, “Wow.” Another pause. “ _That_ is one fucked up story. You totally win this one.”

 Goddammit. “It’s not about winning, Laura. It’s about admitting to yourself that a little help won’t kill you. That it actually could save lives.” I shake my head. “Like I said, you don’t have to talk about it with me. But you have to talk about it to _someone_. Often. Detailed. For as long as you have to until it’s not scary anymore.”

 She nods, very slowly, then takes a deep breath. “You know, I was about to tell you again that I’m fine.” I know you were. I might not be exactly the kind of Marine that you are but I’m still a female Marine in a male dominated combat environment who constantly feels like she has to prove herself to be allowed to belong. I _know_. “But… I’m not fine. Not… entirely.” Of course you’re not. You _shared another person’s consciousness_. “This whole thing did fuck me up. As in… waiting until Carson falls asleep and then sneaking out to work out long enough that I get tired enough not to be scared shitless of falling asleep. I just…”

 “Get help, Laura. That’s the best advice I can give you. And don’t wait too long.” I honestly wonder why no one, especially Dr. Beckett has made her seek professional help beyond the mandatory sessions – or even go to these mandatory sessions in the first place, because I’m starting to get the sneaking suspicion that she’s been putting that off, too – but obviously, there’s more to her loud mouth and wise cracks, and that includes being able to hide discomfort and hurt well enough to even fool a damn doctor.

 “Okay,” she says, finally, “okay, I will.” Good. That’s… “If _you_ go and talk to your boss about your weapons requalification issues.”

 I most assuredly will _not_. I scowl at her. “This is not how this works, Lieutenant.”

 Now she throws me a grin and that more than anything tells me that I might not be that bad at deflection but that I have obviously met my match in one Lieutenant Laura Cadman. “It sure is now.” No, goddammit. “Look, I’m neither as smart nor as wise as you,” _flattery_ will get you fucking _nowhere_ , Lieutenant, “but I know one thing: you have issues. With your shooting scores. And with your boss. And one of them is somehow linked to the other, so honestly, if you want to breach Expert scores, I don’t think _I_ ’m the right person to train you.”

 My scowl deepens. “You are _exactly_ the right person to train me.” Because I don’t have issues with _you_. Shooting shit scores in front of you isn’t half as bad as shooting them in front of the Major. Or Dee. Or even Mats. Crappy marksmanship with only you to watch isn’t nearly half as humiliating as in front of my team. You’re not the one whose life depends on me shooting at perfect level if push comes to shove.

 “Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head again. “You gotta get over those issues, and I can’t help you with that. Go talk to your boss. I’ve seen enough of him to know that he likes to play the idiot but I don’t think he actually _is_ one.”

 That makes me snort. “Oh, and how would _you_ know that?”

 It’s a rhetorical question, of course, because she hasn’t known him even remotely long enough for her to make that assess… “You wouldn’t be on his team if he were. You _hate_ idiots, and you’d have flipped him the bird when he asked you to join his team if you really thought he’s just some dumb macho special forces hottie.”

 Okay. What the… She might not know _him_ well enough to make a correct assessment on his intellectual and social prowess but she sure knows _me_ way better than I’d have given her credit for after just a few months.

 Then again, I really didn’t make her life fun when I still thought _she_ was an idiot. She’s got a damn point there. Fucking hell. “Fine. I’ll talk to Major Moore,” even though I really have no idea how to broach the subject without making _me_ look like an absolute and abject failure and idiot, “if _you_ go to your counseling sessions and don’t stop going until you’re not afraid of fading away when you let yourself fall asleep anymore.”

 Another grin. “It’s a deal?”

 I can’t help sighing. “Yes, it’s a deal. Now can we go back to another round of nine-millimeter drill?”

 Now it’s her rolling her eyes. But she still gets up, making a small sound of disgust. “Okay, fine. One more round.” Yeah, or two or… “Just _one_ , Maureen. I had an appointment in the Shrink Tank in an hour and I need to uncancel it before getting there.”

 Oh, fine. “Fair enough. And Laura?” She throws me a “What is it now?” look while putting her ear muffs and glasses back on, and it’s my turn to grin now, “’s a good thing you didn’t disappear. I think I’d have missed you.”

 That makes her roll her eyes first and then give me a small smile that tells me that she’s a lot less secure about her place in Atlantis than she really lets on, before going back to business to avoid any unnecessary awkwardness. “Eyes on target, Captain. Eyes on target.”

 Yeah, okay, I can get behind that. Because honestly, it’s been personal enough for now. Gotta focus on the real issues here now, and do some real girl stuff. Like, you know, blowing off some targets’ faces. So eyes on target, it is, at least for now, and worry about the really difficult stuff later. I can totally do _that_.  


	9. No Shelter I Have Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, being a recon and covert ops team means getting the _really_ shitty missions. Such as going to Olesia three days after Team Sheppard managed to barely evade the Wraith cruiser descending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I kind of both love and hate "Condemned" for various reasons and I find the ending super scary. So it's probably unsurprising that I had to use it for fic. I apologize to Team Moore but honestly, it did make for good fiction, considering that, according to my calculations, the episode must have played around the first anniversary of Laura Greenspan's death (just keep that in mind and you'll be one step ahead of Morsberg at all times in this fic...).
> 
> Just a warning: as per the episode, this fic skims along mentioning genocide (and outright mentions the circumstances of the military coup in Chile 1973. Only google that if you aren't squeamish or are easily traumatized by past events and the news, Chile in the Seventies was a _horrible_ place). I have stayed away from anything graphic but the implications are clear enough, so maybe skip this (and the next story, as that will deal with the emotional fall-out on the team) if this isn't your thing. I honestly won't mind if you do, your mental health is way more important than my fic. 
> 
> Timeline-wise, we're around three months and maybe two weeks or so in S2 and maybe a month and a half after "Intruder".

**No Shelter I Have Found**

_“I’m hungry, weary, but I cannot lay me down_   
_The rain comes, dreary, but there’s no shelter I have found_   
_It will be a long time till I find my abode_   
_Here I am on Man’s road, walking Man’s road.”_

_America, “Man’s Road”_

 I kind of wish they’d have given this mission to another team. Then again, every _other_ team would have wished that, too. We’ve all read Sheppard’s report about what happened here three days ago, and about the Wraith cruiser that descended on the city, so everyone had the same idea about what Olesia would look like after the Wraith were done here. And naturally, no one wanted to be the one getting tagged with doing aftermath recon. Pity that we’re explicitly slotted for recon and covert ops.

 So of _course_ it would be us getting saddled with this shit, which is why we’ve been just through the Gate, Maureen piloting the cloaked jumper over the island the Gate is position on. So far, nothing looks much out of the ordinary, except the scorch marks and combat damage left from Team Sheppard’s escape.

 There’s silence in the jumper that’s somehow becoming more tense – so tense, actually, that I wouldn’t mind the Major trying to alternately make jokes about Marine Corps pilots and correct Maureen’s flying, like he did the first time she flew a jumper with him aboard two weeks ago – until the Major breaks it by telling Maureen to execute the protocol for the aftermath of a Wraith attack in a low voice. I can’t see her face from my second row chair right behind her but I bet she’s staring ahead with her face in a frown of deep concentration, while she checks for any Wraith ships in orbit and in the atmosphere and Wraith lifesigns on the ground and, after finding none, sending out a broadband hail calling out for any survivors, promising assistance and safety.

 She does that for the standard three times but every time she pauses, there’s just static as an answer. The Olesians are a technologically advanced people, so getting no answer _at all_ isn’t a good sign. In fact, it’s a really, really bad sign, and while we race across the water towards the capital, a bad feeling starts to settle in my stomach. This… isn’t going to end well.

 I exchange a look with DeLisle, seated behind the Major, and as hard to read as that man usually is, I can still see my own dread at what we’re going to find mirrored in his face. Probably not as openly as in my damn face but yeah, after a little over three months on the same team and working with each other for almost every single say of them, I’ve finally gotten a bit of a hang of reading this guy. He’s _not_ happy.

 We’ve reached the outskirts of the planet’s capital now and… “Oh, hell.” Yeah, exactly my thoughts, sir. Most buildings here are fully intact but there’s no one down there. Everything is just… _empty_.

 Maureen looks at the Major. “You want me to land, sir?”

 He shakes his head. “No, keep going. Camera’s switched on?”

 “Yes, sir.” She nods, kind of jerkily, and I think I can now safely assume that we’re all afraid of the same thing.

 Racing ever closer to the center of the city, the signs of battle increase. There’s a downed ship to our left, and scorch marks on a wall and a building shot to rubble and then more downed ships, more scorch marks, more rubble. And _no one there_. Not even corpses. In a way, that would have been a lot less unsettling than the absolute absence of a human presence.

 When we’re in the city center, the Major finally orders her to land and after some searching, Maureen finds a big enough spot free of rubble to land. There’s another moment of silence before the Major gets up – is it just me or did he just, for a very short moment, look like an old man in pain? – and walks past us, towards the jumper’s rear exit, and after another exchange of looks, we get up to follow him out through the now open hatch. Moving out, I hump the standard medical pack on my back, although I have a bad feeling that I won’t be needing any of its contents.

 Outside, we gather all in a circle and I just can’t shake the thought that the Major in particular but also DeLisle look like _shit_. Grey faces, lines that I could have _sworn_ weren’t there when we boarded the jumper just maybe an hour or so ago, and something in their eyes that makes you avoid their gaze under all circumstances. I throw Maureen a short look and she seems to have seen it, too, just answering with a “Don’t ask,” look of her own. Yeah, guess it’s better that way.

 “Alright, people,” the Major finally says, checking first his P90 and then his Beretta and motioning for us to do the same, “we’re moving out, see if there are any survivors we might have missed.” He doesn’t believe that for one minute, is what his tone says but I think he _wants_ to believe it very, very hard. “I’m not going to split the team up, and I want all of you to keep an eye out for trouble. The Wraith have messed with our lifesigns detectors before, and I’m not in the mood for any nasty surprises. Ready?” We all nod. “Okay, Dee, point, me six, fan out, staggered, not more than nine feet distance at all times. Move.”

 We fan out across the street – wide enough to have been some kind of main avenue, with buildings that might have been maybe mid-high left and right – DeLisle walking in front on the left side, then Maureen a few meters behind him on the right side, me again on the left side and the Major bringing up the rear to the right.

 We’re making our way forward slowly, sometimes pausing to check the lifesigns detectors or something suspicious on the road in front of us and honestly, this feels like this planet went through a global extinction event. There’s _nothing_ here that is alive. Even the plants were either blasted or burned away, there are no stray pets, no feral animals roaming around, no birds singing, not even damn insects buzzing around. There’s only rubble and junk and a weird dusty taste on the wind that’s lazily blowing through the abandoned and destroyed city.

 This is, by far, the scariest place I have ever been in.

 “Sir?” Maureen suddenly says into the silence, “What do you think are the chances that any of these buildings had cellars are bunkers beneath where people could still be hiding?”

 I turn around and there’s still that weird look in his face, all hard lines and hard eyes, looking like they might crack any minute. “Minimal. You want to check it out?”

 She shrugs. “Colonel Sheppard would kick our fucking asses if we didn’t, sir.”

 I’m pretty sure that at any other time, in any other place, he’d have rolled his eyes and muttered something about the First Waver Cult of John Sheppard right now but as it is, he just nods. “Fine. Dee, first building to your left, activate your camera. Everyone keep your weapons up, stay close together, pay attention. I’m not in the mood for anyone getting themselves killed by a damn booby trap.”

 On his order, we move into the building through the hole that probably used to be the front door before the Wraith came along – must have been a pretty massive door because everything points to the Wraiths having had to deploy a considerable amount of explosives to breach it – and slowly walk along a fairly wide corridor. This seems to have been an office building of some sort, judging from the desks and computer terminals in the trashed rooms left and right of the corridor. It’s Maureen who breaks the silence again. “Sir… there’s some writing on the wall in this room. Looks recent.”

 “What’s it say, Captain?” No “Kid”, today, not since arriving at Olesia, anyway. I still don’t know the history behind _that_ , but at least when he calls her that you know that he doesn’t consider a situation particularly dangerous or serious.

 She shakes her head. “Can’t make out much of it from here, sir. I’d have to enter the room.”

 I can see the muscles in his jaw work. Yeah, I recognize that feeling. He has the same bad feeling I’ve been having ever since we landed here. Something’s very, very wrong here. “Dee, check for booby traps. If I were the Wraith commander carpet bombing this city, I’d make sure to leave a few nasty surprises for anyone being stupid enough to come back here.” Good point, sir.

 DeLisle just nods, methodically and meticulously checking the doorframe and everything after that for hidden trip wires or triggers. After a ten minutes or so, he gestures for Maureen to follow him, and, like the smart Marine she is, she takes almost exactly the same way in he does. After a few minutes of scrunching her face in concentration, she comes back out, DeLisle following her. The Major looks at her, his face still a mask of stone. “So?”

 She shakes her head, then wipes a gloved hand across her face. “The Olesians apparently used a dialect of written Ancient I’m not familiar with. It’s also unfinished. Looks like someone scribbled it on the wall and was interrupted mid-sentence.”

 I’m pretty sure we can all very well imagine by _what_ they might have been interrupted. “Anything you _could_ get, Captain?”

 Looking very serious, she nods. “It’s either a warning or a message of some kind. Something about a “stadium” and “taking”. Sir… this is just an educated guess… but that might be a clue as to where everyone disappeared to.”

 There’s that muscle flexing again. “To where everyone was _taken_ , you mean.”

 I really, _really_ don’t want to finish that line of thought. “People taken to a stadium by an opposing force” never, _never_ ended well, especially not when the “opposing force” are highly pissed off, starving lifesucking space vampires. From the face Maureen makes when she answers him, she knows that just as well. “Yes, sir. That’s what I meant.”

 Despite the Major liking to play the ignorant idiot who knows a shit ton about small unit combat tactics and ones and zeros but not much else, he very much looks like he just had the same flash thoughts back to Chile 1973 and the Pinochet junta Maureen and DeLisle and I had and there’s also something else in his entire bearing. Something… personal. This entire mission is somehow deeply personal for him, and I only realize that now. I can see his mind working behind that ashen face, and I’m not even surprised when he finally says, “Everyone fall back to the jumper. We’re getting the hell out of here, _now_.”

 I am, however, somewhat surprised when Maureen speaks up again. Even though I should by now get used to her not being shy about giving him a piece of her mind when she thinks she has to. “All due respect, sir, but… I don’t think we’re done here yet.”

 “We’re done here, Captain, when I _say_ we’re done here. And what did I say just now?” Oh great, this is shaping up to be one of those battle of the wills clusterfucks like we had during the siege. Only right now she doesn’t have the excuse of being exhausted from a four day battle.

 From the look of it, she knows that, at least, and judging from her far more rational and calm tone, she doesn’t want to let it escalate like it did back three months ago. But apparently, she’s not ready to back down, either. Fuck. “I heard you, sir.” He probably wants to interrupt, telling her to get her ass back to the jumper in that case but she’s not here to fold easily. Ganz. Toll. “But, sir… we need to document what happened here. It’s right there in our orders. And it’s our duty.”

 She’s definitely the adult in this conversation, and that’s actually more like the Maureen I knew from that first year than the one hopped up on stims and lack of sleep I got to know during the siege. The Major has already lost. “A duty to _whom_ , Captain? We’re _going back_ , end of discussion.” He just doesn’t know it yet.

 “To our command. And, even more important, to any possible survivors.” Yeah, technically, that’s right. Technically, there could be survivors.

 He’s not happy with that answer. Not at _all_. “ _Survivors_ , Captain? For fuck’s sake, this city was bombed back into the Stone Age, and its inhabitants were _taken to a goddamn stadium_ , by _lifesucking space vampires_. _How_ could there _possibly_ be any “survivors”?”

 There it is again. That personal component. He makes good points, yes, but he’s way too riled up for this to be only about rational arguments. He wants out of here, and fast, and he’s got some personal stakes in this. Honestly, at this point, things would be a lot easier if he just told us what the fuck this is _about_.

 Maureen looks very much like she’s closed to asking him exactly that but… was that just a minuscule head shake from DeLisle? Fucking hell, I hate it when they do that wordless communication thing. They’re doing it so effortlessly, and I’m almost sure they’re not doing it on purpose but it just serves really well to remind me that they all have a history together and I’m just new guy. The replacement. For someone who was, according to Maureen, kind of the glue for this team because everyone loved her in their own way.

 She takes a deep breath. I bet she’s pretty close to switching to stronger language but seems to have decided to keep the adult vibe going for the time being. Smart choice. “The Wraith rarely cull an entire people, sir. Usually, they herd up a part of the population to store on their ships. And we’ve learned from Ronon Dex that they occasionally let people go to hunt them for sport. The majority of the prisoners managed to escape. There also might be Olesians who were off-planet when the cull happened. Sir, chances are actually pretty good that there are still a sizable number of Olesians out there who might want or need to know what happened to their planet and their people.”

 She’s right. And he _hates_ it. He hates it because it means that he’ll have to stay here longer than absolutely necessary, that he _can’t_ just call it a day and order us to get back to Atlantis without so much as an “Didn’t find anyone, planet’s dead, off to the mess hall”. He’d love to, that much is clear, but – and this is actually a point in his favor – he’s got too much of that “Do the right thing, not the easy one” thing in him that makes a good leader to just walk away from this shit show of a mission. All of that is evident, when he mutters just two words, in a voice almost too low to hear and laced by something profoundly discomforting. Something like… I don’t know… pain? “Fuck, Reece.”

 Oh God. I _might_ be totally overthinking this and read way too much in this but I _swear_ to God she just looked like she wanted to hug him _so fucking bad_. I honestly don’t know half the story between those two but I already wish they’d just get their shit together and _do_ something about it. I throw DeLisle a look, and again, I might be misinterpreting it but I think he… agrees?

 Jesus fucking Christ.

 I am _this_ close to breaking this clusterfuck up by saying some idiotic thing or other but it seems that Maureen is really on a roll with this adult thing today. “What if… we used the jumper, sir? I agree, covering this entire city by foot to look for survivors or hints as to what happened to the people here is not a viable option but we could fly a search pattern over the city, try to find that stadium, at least.”

 That’s actually way smarter than my half-baked idea to disrupt whatever weird vibe they just had going on by making an idiot out of myself. I already knew that Maureen Reece isn’t half bad at defusing difficult situations – I’ve seen her break up fights between enlisted Marines more than once when she was the duty officer in that last year, simply by somehow managing to tell both parties how dumb each of them had just acted, without even once using language stronger than socially acceptable in say a flag officer’s home, after all – but somehow, this seems close to genius. Especially because in the end, the Major just nods and says, “Suggestion accepted, Captain. Everyone fall back to the jumper, same formation, we’re doing this shit from the air.”

 Okay. That… wasn’t so hard? While DeLisle takes point and the Major moves to secure from the rear, I manage to catch a short moment with Maureen murmuring under my breath, “The fuck is going on with him?”

 She just shakes her head and replies, her voice equally low, “Later, Mats,” and yeah, there it is again. If she doesn’t exactly know what’s wrong, at least she has an idea because of whatever history she shares with the other two, and despite rationally knowing that it’s a dumb thing to even think about, this grates on me, on an almost visceral level, and I hate it. This is not my usual performance level – I’m a pretty good team player, used to fit in practically seamlessly with existing units, without a hitch or even a hint of awkwardness – and I just wish I knew how to get over this shit. I bet _Laura_ would know what to do.

 There was also enough finality in her voice to tell me that she definitely won’t be discussing the Major’s state of mind, or that of DeLisle’s mind, while we’re at it, right now, so I just fall back into formation when we exit the building and make our way back to the jumper. Once we’re inside, Maureen closes the hatch even before we got back to our seats, and that more than anything tells me that this place sets her teeth on edge, too. She wants off this planet, too, and honestly, I can’t fault her for that.

 When we’re all strapped in, she raises the ship back up, telling us that she’ll get up high enough so that she can let the ship scan the entire city and get a better overview and the Major lets her. I can see that he’d love to take over the wheel – apparently, at some point, this guy was a pilot, too? – but as gene therapy didn’t work for either of us, Maureen is really the only one on the entire team qualified to fly a jumper, which is _probably_ why there won’t be many missions involving jumpers in our future. Sending a team off into a potentially dangerous situation without a backup pilot? Not a good idea.

 God, I wish that would have been a factor for _this_ mission.

 After a few minutes of flying around in high atmosphere, she seems to have found the stadium in question and decreases altitude until we’re… “Captain, the _fuck_ are you doing?”

 Yes, what the fuck are you doing, _closing that front windshield_? When did she learn instrument flying? Maureen, _what_ … “We do need to document it, sir. We _don’t_ need to see it.”

 The way she said that – in a low voice, with a quiet determination and just a bit of pleading – tells me that she’s been dreading this just like the rest of us, and that she has no intention of letting this haunt her more than absolutely necessary. Or any of us, for that matter.

 We’re hovering above the stadium, the jumper’s camera running but Maureen quietly refusing to open the front windshield or letting the camera footage play on the monitor and she and the Major locked in a silent, weird… _conversation_ , for at least a few minutes, until the Major seems to somehow… deflate and slouch back in his chair, running a hand over his face, and sounding… exhausted, for lack of a better word. “Fair enough, Kid. Just get us the fuck out of Dodge when you’re done.”

 She nods, and there’s no way she of the finely tuned antennas didn’t see or hear any of that, right down to the use of that nickname, whatever its history is. “Yes, sir.”

 In the end, she takes another thirty minutes of silently documenting the devastation of the city from above, the windshield back open as soon as she clears the stadium’s location and then flies the jumper back to the Gate on that island, finally getting us home.

 When we reach the jumper bay, I feel just as exhausted as the Major sounded back above that stadium and we collectively need a moment before getting up and exiting the little ship… right into Dr. Weir’s waiting arms. Crap. She actually gives us _hopeful_ looks and even gets as far as asking, “Major, how was the mission? Did you encounter anything or anyone…” before the Major just walks past her, and something in his entire bearing tells me that she was just _this_ close to getting yelled at by one of her subordinates. “Major? Major Moore? Is everything…”

 It’s Maureen who walks past her next, taking the time to stop for a moment and shaking her head, while the Major and DeLisle just keep on walking out of the hangar. “Now’s… not a good time, ma’am.”

  _Any_ other leader except Colonel Sheppard would have pressed their point, ordered the Major to come the hell back and report to them, regardless of how stricken or exhausted they looked. Dr. Weir… just nods, understanding almost pouring out of her. “I think I agree, Captain.”

 Maureen looks ready to head out, too, but she just gives me a short reassuring look and then turns back to Weir. “There’s extensive camera footage on the jumper’s hard drive. Ma’am… whoever’s going to analyze it, tell them to approach it with extreme caution. We have reason to suspect that a great portion of the Olesians were taken to a stadium by the Wraith before they carpet bombed the city. There’s probably some pretty… strong stuff in there.”

 I can see the exact moment when it registers with Weir what Maureen just said, from the very short moment of horrification crossing her face. Then she schools it back to her usual friendly, professional expression. “I… see, Captain.” She does, that’s the problem. And I’m kind of grateful that she _doesn’t_ ask if we have seen it yet or not and instead says, “Colonel Sheppard would like your team to report in for a debriefing at 0800 tomorrow.” Yeah, Colonel’s a smart man. He probably anticipated that we’d need a few hours to get our shit back together, and _that’s_ why we’d all lay down our life for the civilian and military leader of the Atlantis expedition.

 We both nod, giving her a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.”

 She nods, as well. “Thank you for taking this mission, Captain.” Yeah, it’s not like we had much of a choice but I guess we appreciate the effort? “Please make sure that all of you get all the care you need.”

 That makes Maureen give her a sad kind of smile, before she makes a gesture to include me and says, “We’ll handle it, ma’am. Don’t worry.”

 Weir answers with a smile that’s a little more confident than I feel right now. “I know, Captain. Stabsarzt.” Have I mentioned that I kind of love that Weir speaks German well enough to be the only non-native speaker here who actually knows how to flawlessly pronounce my rank _and_ even finally uses it, instead of the incessant “doctor” everyone else uses? “Now, I won’t keep you any longer from post-mission protocol. Have a good night, both of you.”

 We both give her a tired kind of a two-finger salute and turn to go. It takes me all until we leave the bay to get up the courage to say, “So… is later now or…”

 I almost expect Maureen to shut me down immediately, but after a moment looking very much like she’s torn between doing exactly that and just walking off without a word, I can hear her sigh with resignation and then she says, “Honestly? I have no idea what _exactly_ messed up both the Major and Dee like that.” Fuck, I was afraid she’d say… “But… I might have an idea.”

 I give her the raised eyebrow. “Want to share with the class, or…”

 And after a bit of hesitation… she does. And _God_ , I should have seen _that_ one coming. But yeah, at least the fact that she _talks_ to me reconciles me a little with that stupid step of jealousy I felt back on Olesia, and it serves well enough as a distraction to everything that happened today that I make it back all the way to the armory and even through dinner and back to my quarters before crumbling into a heap on the floor, heaving and choking on those tears I haven’t cried since Hoff, and I guess, in the grand scheme of things that’s _something_?


	10. These Are The Places You Will Find Me Hidin’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Senior Master Sergeant Simon DeLisle learns that even with Laura Greenspan gone, his team can still somehow take care of themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another one done! This is the immediate aftermath of _No Shelter I have Found_ , so still discussing themes from the mission to Olesia, but in less direct detail than in the last story. This was kind of hard, as writing from Dee's perspective always is because he's so damn _observant_ that it's driving me crazy, and because it once again involves all four of them and writing stuff that involves all four of them is always like herding cats. Impossible to do right. Ugh.
> 
> Anyway, I'm also happy to announce that after this, I have three more stories already done, so expect more stuff to come along your way. Yay!
> 
> And for anyone not from Hamburg and without any friends from Hamburg: a Franzbrötchen is something that really exists. It's a pastry _kind of_ like a croissant but more chewie and with a cinnamon filling and none of those you get outside of Hamburg taste as good as any of them you will get in Hamburg, as anyone from hailing from Hamburg will tell you. Franzbrötchen are love. (and I'm not even from Hamburg...)

**These Are The Places You Will Find Me Hidin’**

_“I know there’s California, Oklahoma_  
_And all of the places I ain’t ever been to but_  
_Down in the valley with whiskey rivers_  
_These are the places you will find me hidin’_  
_These are the places I will always go_  
_These are the places I will always go.”_

_The Head and the Heart, “Down in the Valley”_

 I generally try to ignore the Major’s grumbling about this galaxy being “a shithole” because a) it’s not, or at least not shittier than the Milky Way and b) we’ve been here for maybe three and a half months. There’s no _way_ anyone could get to know an entire _galaxy_ in this space of time to know whether it’s shit or not.

 But honestly, right now, right here, this galaxy is a fucking shithole, full of fucking shit, right to the brim. A week after the anniversary of Laura Greenspan’s death, and they send us to a dead planet, razed to the ground by the Wraith, the population either abducted to serve as food or cooped up in a stadium, to be sucked dry and left for dead. It’s been three hours since we’ve been back, and the footage Maureen shot from the jumper should be on the network by now. So far, I have resisted trying to find and looking at it, but I have a pretty vivid imagination, especially when it’s really inconvenient.

 I have tried sleeping, thinking it might be really easy because I felt exhausted enough to skip dinner _and_ the shower, despite desperately wanting to get rid of that terribly dusty smell of Olesia but after half an hour, I gave up, dragged myself to the shower and then back to bed. Took me another two and a half hours to admit final defeat and get dressed in sweat pants and an AFSOC hoodie. At first I considered the workout room but at 2100 it’s still way too early to be sure that it’s definitely empty and I’m just not in the mood for running. But God, I can’t be hanging around in these quarters just a minute longer.

 Or at least not alone. I know I probably shouldn’t – when we exited the jumper, Maureen looked ready to hit the sack just as fast as the rest of us – but somehow, calling the Major is out of the question, and I really don’t know Morsberg well enough to start a conversation about a mission ripping open old wounds. So I tap my ear piece, standing on the small balcony attached to my one bedroom quarters and leaning on the railing. “DeLisle to Reece.”

 I almost expect her not to answer – or answer and tell me to go fuck myself and let her sleep – but I do get a reply almost immediately. “I honestly thought you’d be asleep by now.”

 Mh. So I guess I didn’t just feel like an old man, I probably looked like one, too. “Yeah, you and me, both.”

 There’s a short pause. Then, “You need company?” Well… “Because to be honest… I could use some.”

 Okay. So Olesia didn’t leave her cold, either. I mean, no, of course it didn’t but something tells me that she suspected why it fucked up the Major and me especially, just doesn’t know why exactly. Maybe it’s time to change that. “Where are you?”

 I can hear a low sigh. “What do you think?”

 Yeah, okay, that’s actually a no-brainer. Of course she’s not in her quarters. She’s up where I found her and the Major after she chewed him out for leaving Laura behind. I can’t help a little grin. “I’m coming up.”

 “Yeah,” she says, and I’m not sure but it almost sounds like there’s a hint of relief in her voice, “I’d hope you’d say that.”

 Okay, then. Balcony it is. I leave my own small balcony but shortly before leaving my quarters, too, I… remember something. I double back towards my bed and open the twenty year old footlocker I’ve been lugging around with me ever since joining up, to take out something I wasn’t sure I’d ever give her.

 After that, I make my way up to her balcony, and since they finally repaired most of the damage to the walkways and towers, it’s a lot faster than the first time I went there. When I arrive, I realize that it must have started to rain steadily sometime after I took off from my quarters but for some reason, the entire balcony is bone dry. I walk through the door and give Maureen a questioning look. She shrugs. “Localized low level force field. Discovered it about three weeks after finding this place. Doesn’t keep out the cold but it’s pretty effective against rain.”

 Huh. This city is really one weird place. But hey, if it works, who am I to complain. So I just walk over to her, sitting in a somewhat sheltered corner on a queen size mattress that somehow mysteriously made its way here at some point after we arrived here – I suspect the Major, but honestly, could have been Morsberg just as likely – with her back to the wall, wrapped in knit blanket that looks like it is from Earth but could really be from anywhere. There’s a small stack of battered looking paperback books lying next to her – judging from the half-naked couple on the top one, they’re probably all those Regency romances she inexplicably likes – a thermos sitting next to the stack of books, and some candles placed on the ground around the mattress burning steadily. Someone settled in for the duration of the night, I’d say.

 I sit down next to her and… are those throw pillows new? What did I miss? “So,” she says after I made myself comfortable by leaning my back against the wall and stretching out my legs, “mission fucked you up, too, then?”

 Understatement of the year. I snort a little cynically, completely without humor. “Mission fucked up _everyone_ on the team. Damn, I don’t envy whoever gets tagged with analyzing that footage.”

 She shakes her head, burying a little deeper into her blanket. “It’s probably going to be a couple of the forensic anthropologists. They see that stuff all the time. Just not… at that scale.” She scrunches her face. “Okay, except maybe Archembeault and Hausener. They both did excavation work in Rwanda and Bosnia for the UN in the Nineties. I think they saw some pretty bad shit.”

 I sometimes forget that she knows at least three quarters of the Expedition well enough to know details like that, even the civilians. She really seems to have a knack for that kind of thing, and I wonder if she already had that back at the SGC. Seems like she had much more of a life outside the team as I’d thought. “Whoever it is, they’re going to need a shit ton of therapy.”

 “Yeah,” she says, nodding slowly, “speaking of that.” Crap. Doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for beating around the bush tonight. “Are you going to be okay, Dee?”

 Damn, I should have seen that one coming. Ever since she became XO of the team, she seems to have gotten it in her head that she needs to make sure the rest of us take care of ourselves. Technically, that should be Morsberg’s job, and where everything physical is concerned, he’s doing fine but for some reason everything that’s to do with mental health seems to have wandered into Maureen’s portfolio. As bad as she is at lying herself, she knows perfectly well how to spot when others are trying to lie to her. In that year at the SGC, I could still get away with it, because she’d been younger and less experienced and she hadn’t known me well enough but now? No way. I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head, telling her the truth. “I… don’t know, Maureen.”

 And that _is_ the truth. This mission fucked me up, screwed with my head and my damn heart, being basically a real existing flashback to that day we found Laura Greenspan’s charred remains in a cave, along with everyone else’s burned bodies. And it hurts. Good God, how it _hurts_. Driving home the point that this was the day when she stopped existing, and that it was a year ago and that thinking about her is still as painful as it was a year ago.

 She takes a sip from the thermos she brought with her. And the fact that what she says next is, “Did you ever talk to someone about it?” tells me that she knows exactly what this is about. She might not know the full extent of how much that mission resembled the mission when Laura died because I never told her and as far as I know the Major didn’t, either, but she sure as hell can read both of us well enough to know that the entire combination of the anniversary of Laura’s death, the mission and the fact that we haven’t really allowed ourselves to fully cope with it have fucked up both of us.

 So there’s really no point in lying to her anymore. “No.”

 She shakes her head and despite the flickering, somewhat sparse light from the candles, I can very well see the disapproving and kind of troubled look in her face. “You should, Dee. You and the Major both really, _really_ should talk about it with someone professional.”

 I’m pretty sure she knows she could at least order _me_ to seek counseling but the Major would probably veto that order, and I bet she knows that, too. And I know that she’s only doing this because she worries about us and that she doesn’t want to see me – and I guess the Major, too – hurt and honestly, if she’s the officer I think she is, she’s _also_ worried about combat readiness, as well as she should, but it’s just… something I’d rather not talk about. Because then at least I can tell myself I don’t have to think about it, either. I draw up my legs and put my forehead on my knees because for some reason I feel really, really tired right now. “I know. I just… I know, okay?” And then I remember that she wasn’t exactly happy with a few of the Major’s decision and I feel a little déjà vu coming up but my protective NCO instincts make me do it anyway. “And Maureen?”

 “What?” She looks _very_ much like she’d love nothing more than to push me on this and is making a heroic effort not to do that. I appreciate it, really.

 I just don’t want her to make the same mistake she made after the siege. “Don’t give him crap about today, okay?”

 That earns me a frown, and I realize that I should have given her more credit. “I wasn’t planning to. Why’d you even bring that up?”

 Yeah, that’s a good question. The truthful answer would probably be “because I don’t trust you to do the right thing”, but then she’d be really pissed off at me, and rightfully so. We’ve known each other long enough that I _should_ damn well trust her, exactly _because_ she already messed that up once. That’s basically _guaranteed_ that she won’t do it again. I sigh. “Honestly? I don’t even know. Maybe this entire thing just screwed with my head a little too much.”

 The look in her eyes is gentle and kind and nothing but genuinely worried for a friend. “Dee…”

 Which is exactly why I don’t let her finish and instead remember that thing I grabbed before I came here and use this moment to take care of that. “But… I got something for you. To help you understand.”

 That frown again, this time questioningly, and just a _tad_ annoyed. “You… what?”

 But yeah, I started it, now I need to see it through. I take a deep breath. “Look, I’m probably not supposed to have this, and I’m _definitely_ not supposed to give _you_ this, so promise me you won’t tell him about it.”

 “I… I promise.” It’s to her great credit that she promises _first_ and asks _second_. That definitely says that she trusts me more than I apparently trust her. Suddenly I feel like an ass. “Dee, what are you talking about?”

 And I also feel like an ass, just for a moment, because I’m wondering whether it’s really my place to do what I’m about to do, my place to hand over the Major’s secret but then again… she’s the recipient, and if anyone is entitled to have it, it’s her. I pull the piece of paper I fished out of my footlocker out of my pocket and hold it out to her. “This.”

 Slowly, hesitantly, she takes the slightly creased sheet of paper folded hastily in middle out of my hand and opens it, probably instantly recognizing the Major’s chicken scrawl handwriting. She looks at me, a little confused, and asks, “Did you read it?”

 I shake my head. At least I can answer _that_ with absolute honesty. “No. I grabbed it from his desk but didn’t read any further than your name.” I remember that like it was yesterday. It was a few days after we buried Laura, when I caught him with his door open, not noticing me for at least ten, maybe even fifteen minutes. He sat there bend over his desk, alternating between repeatedly running his hand through his hair and over his face and intently scribbling away, swearing under his breath. And _Jesus_ , I’ll _never_ forget his face when he looked up after I made myself known. That haunted look in his eyes and good God, yes, the tears he’d probably hadn’t even noticed, and I should have _known_ right then and there that Laura’s death fucked him up beyond anything we’ve been through in our career together and that I should have taken care of that the moment I saw him like that.

 Maureen looks at the letter for a long moment, and I bet she hasn’t read a word of it, yet. I get confirmation when she turns back to me, wariness written all over her face. “Are you sure he won’t mind me reading this?”

 Yeah, I could make something up, and she’d probably believe me, because she _wants_ to believe me but that wouldn’t be fair, either to her _or_ the Major. He wrote that when Laura’s death was still a wide open ugly painful wound, not the constantly aching scar it is probably now, and I have no idea what is in it but I have a feeling that there are things in there he’d never want her to read, for a lot of good and a lot of stupid reasons. So I am honest. “No. But I still think you should.”

 She nods very slowly and gives herself another moment of contemplation, then takes a deep breath and turns her attention on the letter. I can see her reading, very carefully, a whole range of emotions playing over her face in the space of the minutes it takes her to read it. There’s sadness and pain and shock and, at the end, sympathy, when she seems to have temporarily forgotten my presence here and murmurs, in a very low, quiet voice a single, “Oh, Tom.” That, more than anything, tells me all I need to know about her refusal to call him by his first name unprompted.

 When she’s finally done with reading that letter and digesting its content, she takes another deep breath, folds it in half and puts away in the book on top of her stack. Then she turns back to me and gives me a wobbly sad little smile. Suddenly, I feel like an asshole for pushing this on her when she hadn’t even asked for it. “Shit, Maureen, I’m really sor…”

 “Thanks for letting me have this, Dee.” Okay. That’s not the reaction I expected. Considering that it probably opened up a few of her own traumas – right up until now, I didn’t even consider that the fact that she wasn’t there when it happened might actually be really bad for her, and I hate myself a little more for that – that’s not what I thought she’d tell me. Add in the weird, complicated mess her feelings for the Major probably are, and this could have gone wrong six ways from Sunday. That it didn’t… well.

 Seems I’m just one lucky bastard, then, “You’re… you’re welcome. I guess?”

 That makes her laugh a little and shake her head. “’s fine, Dee. And no, I won’t rat you out. I solemnly swear and all that.”

 I’m not sure _that’s_ how the Marauders’ password went, and I’m _pretty_ sure that she knows that better than me but yeah, I’ll take it, anyway. “Thanks, I appreciate… Doc?” Wow, I almost didn’t noticed him, with the sound of the rain masking the low whooshing sound of the opening door and the balcony being basically dark outside the small circle of warm light Maureen’s candles provide.

 The Doc steps into the circle and good God, he seriously looks like shit. He’s wearing what seems to be tonight’s uniform of choice – track pants and a hoodie emblazoned with “LMU München Handball” across the front – and his face looks very much like he’s been… “Don’t worry, Mats. I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay.”

 That elicits a small definitely cynical laugh from Morsberg, before he gingerly sits down on the mattress kitty corner to my left, careful not to disturb the candles on the ground next to him. “You know,” he says, after leaning against the wall in his back, his knees slightly drawn up and his arms resting loosely on his knees, his eyes closed and his head tipped back, “what’s funny? I just had the weirdest thought.” I’m not sure I want to know that thought, and Maureen looks like she doesn’t, either but the slight shake of her head tells me to just keep listening and I defer to her. She’s known the Doc a lot longer, and judging from the casualness with which he keeps strolling on her balcony, this isn’t the first conversation of this kind they’ve had had here. “Maybe those Hoffans… had a point, after all.”

 It takes me a moment to understand what Morsberg means – I made it a point to read all the reports from missions he was a part of, to see what kind of officer I’d have to deal with, and it took me a moment to mentally sift through those I already read until landing on a planet called Hoff – but God, I thought the mission to Olesia fucked _me_ up good. If the Doc really means what I think… “Don’t, Mats.”

 So, here’s the thing: there are certain things that never make it into mission reports. Things that were said in the heat of the moment, things that seemed irrelevant to the mission but very much relevant to the participants… things that happened after the mission. And from the way Maureen just said that to the Doc – a kind of broken whisper, half pleading, half worried – whatever happened _after_ that mission must have been one hell of a clusterfuck.

 Morsberg is still leaning against the wall with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. “I’m trying not to, honestly.” Then he hangs his head, not looking at us, as if he needs a moment for himself, before finally turning to us. “I honestly thought it couldn’t get any worse than Hoff. Turns out I was wrong. How fucked up is that?”

 Maureen, and this tells me that I still know next to nothing about their friendship, gives him a slight cynical smirk. “That anything could be worse than Hoff or that _you_ could be _wrong_?”

 That’s not the Maureen I got – understanding, patient, insisting I have to take care of myself – and for a moment, I expect the Doc to be really pissed at her. Instead, he glares at her, then shakes his head and mutters, “Fick dich, Reece,” half annoyed and half… amused? Is that it? Is he really looking like he has to laugh, despite not wanting to?

 So I’m not sure what exactly that means – because I’m pretty sure that _wasn’t_ covered in my German lessons back at the Agency almost twenty years ago – but well, I’ve tried to freshen up what sparse German I know and that sounded a _lot_ like “fuck you”.

 It tells me actually a lot about the relationship Maureen and the Doc have that Maureen’s reaction is looking equally like she has to laugh but doesn’t want to and not really being able to hide it, replying, “Yeah, I love you, too, Mr. Surgeons Are Never Wrong.”

 “That’s still _Stabsarzt_ Surgeons Are Never Wrong to you, ma’am.” Okay, now he _is_ at least grinning, and I realize that in that year they were cut off from Earth, both of them developed a kind of friendship that looks easy and light on first look but goes deep enough for them to know exactly when the other needs comfort or to be left alone. I’m not exactly jealous – I’m not the Major, after all – and I think I’m glad that Maureen had friends like that here but yeah, it needs a little getting used to, especially since I’m not really sure what to make of the Doc, yet.

 I mean, he’s definitely capable, knows how to hold himself in a fight, pulls his weight and performs his job with alacrity and competence out in the field, even under pressure and fire. But there’s something he’s not telling us, something he’s holding back on, and while I don’t think it’s something dangerous or bad, it’s something he doesn’t trust us with. Something that, I’m almost sure, Maureen knows. I’m not saying he has to tell us, because everyone’s entitled to their little secrets, I’m just saying that it makes me feel like the Doc doesn’t fully trust the Major and me, that he doesn’t feel part of the team and is holding himself back from really becoming a part of this team. Fuck, I need to stop overthinking this. As long as it doesn’t impact the team’s combat readiness and cohesion, it’s his business how he goes about integrating. Case closed.

 “So… I take it we’re all having trouble falling asleep?” I’m tempted to give him a slightly sarcastic answer but then again, like I said, I don’t know what to make of him yet, and yeah, he’s still an officer, so that probably wouldn’t be the wisest course of action at this point.

 Which is why I’m kind of grateful that Maureen beats me to it, “I don’t know about you but _we_ just really like sitting around in the cold and not talk about that mission clusterfuck.”

 Okay, I probably can’t be a sarcastic little shit to the Doc but Maureen’s a different story. “Speak for yourself, Maureen. _I’m_ just here for the view.”

 It makes Morsberg snort and shake his head. “God, we’re a pretty pathetic bunch of grunts here.” Yeah, well, that’s one way to describe it. Can’t argue with that much. “Hey, anyone know where the…”

 “Would _anyone_ have minded telling me that you’re all here instead of the mess hall where normal people spend their sleepless nights? Would that have been asked too much?” And the Major makes four.

 Did Morsberg just mutter “speak of the devil” under his breath?

 “I heard that, Stabsarzt.” See, I know the Major has some personal problem with the Doc I haven’t fully managed to dissect yet, which makes it even more interesting how fast he accepted that Morsberg can’t stand being called by his corresponding NATO rank so much that he literally does not answer to it and doesn’t even acknowledge being called by it after the first time he corrected you.

 It’s not Morsberg, however, who gets to answer him. It is, surprising just about no one, Maureen because let’s all be honest: this is still her place, and hers alone. All she does is tolerate us here, and we should be damn grateful for that. “We trusted in your tactical skills to find us on your own, sir,” she says, not unfriendly at all, more in that relaxed, patient tone she seems to have adopted around him whenever we’re not on a mission or otherwise in a tight spot and she isn’t pissed off at him for some reason, either.

 He gives her a glare and gruffly answers, “That’s an interesting way to spell “we hoped you wouldn’t crash our private little aftermath party you weren’t invited to” you have there, Kid.” Okay, so apparently, he’s _almost_ over whatever that mission did to him but hasn’t _fully_ recovered yet. “Also, off-duty.”

 Normally, he’d probably receive something biting comeback but I have discovered that this balcony seems to be the one place where she _wouldn’t_ take his bait and start a bickering war. She’d just do what she’s doing now: refrain from rolling her eyes and keep up that patient, benevolent, slightly resigned tone. “Told you, off-duty’s not a concept that can be applied here… Tom.” And yet, she lets him bully her into calling him by his first name. God, these two have a really messed up dynamic, and I’m surprised to see that Morsberg seems to agree in that short look we manage to exchange. “Also, what’s with those containers?”

 Yeah, that’s actually a really good question. And knowing the Major for as long as I have known him… “My tactical skills helped me figure none of you have eaten anything since I don’t know breakfast or something, so my leadership skills told me to make sure you fucking do that before you go to bed at some point in this night.” Yup, that’s exactly what I thought.

 Both Maureen and Morsberg look at him like he maybe lost his mind or something but guys, this is actually the opposite. After Laura died, it took him about six months to even enter a kitchen again, let alone going back to cooking. For about eight months after she died, he exclusively lived off stuff other people had prepared and didn’t even complain, no matter just _how_ shitty the food at the SGC or in Florida or at Area 51 was, and honestly, _that’s_ what really should have tipped me off about _how_ bad her death has affected him. That he took the time to prepare something not just for himself but for _other_ people is a good sign, y’all. It means he finally is using at least one somewhat effective coping strategy.

 Because see, in all those years I served under him, I discovered that what meditation or yoga is to other people, cooking is to the Major: a way to concentrate, focus, bring order into chaos and come to grips with something bothering him. This guy is really, really weird, and yes, I have wondered more than once why I still haven’t found another officer to take care of.

 “Okay,” he says, still keeping up the slightly gruff, annoyed tone, “first things first: those Quartermaster Corps Marines drive a fucking hard bargain. If we ever get invaded again, I want those sons of a bitch on the frontlines. That’ll probably stop any alien invasion in its tracks.” Maureen so very much does _not_ want to laugh, nor does she want to be proud of her fellow Marines but seems her defenses are lowered a little here because it’s really easy to spot. Morsberg still doesn’t look convinced, but then again, he hasn’t been on the receiving end from the Major regaling someone with food. “And second: no croissants for you, Kid, because I honestly didn’t have the time to make them from scratch but I’ve been told New Yorkers can be bought off with pastrami on rye just as easily.”

 And with that, he opens the first container and hands part of the content – two impossibly thick slices of rye bread packed to the brim with _actual_ pastrami and cheese and pickles and whatever else those weird New Yorkers put on bread – over to Maureen who looks a little skeptical but seems to have decided to just go along with it and takes it. Next up… “I was threatened with permanent bodily harm if I touched the pork ribs so sorry, Dee, it’s only a meatballs sandwich for you.”

 Are you fucking _kidding_ me, sir? I haven’t had a decent meatballs sandwich in God knows how long, this is a fucking _God sent_. I shrug. “I’ll most likely survive, sir.”

 That makes him roll his eyes and mutter something like “sarcastic little shit, aren’t we” under his breath before turning to Morsberg. “Sorry, Doc, couldn’t find a decent recipe on such short notice for what do you call them? Franz… what?”

 “Brötchen. Franz… brötchen. Sir.”

 “Yeah, that. If you want those, you gotta give me _some_ pointer on where to find a recipe that doesn’t suck.” What the _fuck_? Judging from what the Major brought Maureen and me, whatever he just suggested to Morsberg must either be something the Doc considers comfort food or something native to the place he grew up in. _When_ did the Major even find the time to find that out? And, more importantly… _how_? “Anyway, I’m told you Hamburgers also like fish in rolls, so here you go. Hope you don’t mind yours fried.”

 With that, he hands Morsberg a rather big roll apparently filled with freshly fried fish in some kind of batter and the Doc first just blinks at him, then says, sounding a little as if in a daze, “Any fish is… is absolutely fine, sir.”

 “Good, because complaining would have meant you’d have to go without any fish at all.” Maureen is _this_ close to intervene, once again, just like she had to a couple of times until now, reminding both of them that they’re _on the same team_ but she seems to have decided against it for now, probably because she knows full well why he’s being like that and is probably just as glad as I that he’s mostly over the mission by now.

 So all she does is eye her sandwich and, before taking a bite, asking him, “What about you… Tom?”

 He plops himself down opposite us, one container still in his hand, his face still in an irritated frown. “Can you believe it? No fucking lobster anywhere in this damn city. We’re _on an ocean_ , and there’s no goddamn shellfish in this entire place.” Ah, so he’d wanted to go with a lobster roll. Which tells me that he’s not half as much over Laura’s death as he’s been trying to tell himself. Because if that were the case, he’d have gone _straight_ to mac’n’cheese. For all of us, actually. He shrugs. “Anyway, guess tuna salad’s gotta have to work for now.”

 Now Maureen grins, and I guess part of that is because she had a first taste of that pastrami sandwich. She so very much looks like she’d just wanted to sigh with pleasure. “You could always put in a request with Sergeant Polstern to have the biologists and the Quartermaster Corps team check if there are any lobster catching opportunities off the Mainland.”

 That, for some inexplicable reason, makes Morsberg snort into his fried fish roll. What? It’s a viable… “No fucking way, Kid. That guy already hated me from the moment I asked him if he could show me where they keep their bread. Do you _want_ to get rid of me?” He narrows his eyes slightly, then adds, “No, don’t actually answer that. And _you_ keep eating your damn fish roll, Doc.”

 “’s some really good fish, sir,” Morsberg answers between chewing and obviously having to work really hard to keep himself from grinning and honestly? I’ve got the feeling that as soon as he and the Major have worked through whatever issues they have with each other, they’ll get along just fine. They just don’t know it yet.

 Maureen smiles at him from behind her sandwich, and I wonder why she does that when he can’t see it because he’s busy with making sure the tuna salad in his sandwich doesn’t spill on his Falcons boxing team hoodie. “Thanks for taking it up with Polstern and his Quartermaster posse, sir.”

 He glares at his misbehaving sandwich. “You’re welcome, Kid.” Then he deigns to give us his full attention. “So, anyone got some cards or something? Cause if you don’t, Reece will have to entertain us with reading from her stash of Regency romances when we’re done eating and none of you really want to do that to her, do you?”

 Actually, I wouldn’t mind because I have a feeling that Maureen would be pretty good at it but yeah, while she has never been embarrassed about her reading habits, she hasn’t been very keen on being made fun of for them and… what is she doing, leaning to the side like that, her sandwich in one hand and the other beneath… “As I happens, Tom, I happen to have something around here… there you go.” And then she comes back up, a pack of well-worn cards in her hand that I could have _sworn_ used to be Laura’s at some point and yeah, she realizes her mistake exactly in the same moment that I do. “Or… maybe not. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

 “Well prepared for every contingency. That’s how I like my XOs.” Or… maybe that wasn’t a mistake? Or he hasn’t realize yet whose pack that used to be? “Come on, hand them over, Kid.”

 She takes a deep breath. “Sir, I didn’t mean to… that is to say, I didn’t know…”

 “I know full well who used to own those cards, Kid.” He doesn’t sound angry or irritated or annoyed anymore. Just a little… tired. “It’s okay. Just give them to me. I promise, you’ll have them back.”

 She tries a small apologetic smile and puts them in the middle of the little circle between us. Then adds bravely. “It’s a promise… Tom. I’ll have them back by the end of the night.”

 He nods, solemnly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

 I can see that both she and Morsberg want to reply something but decide not to, and she just nods. After that, we all finish our sandwiches, mostly in silence and damn, he hasn’t lost any of his mojo with food. This is a really good meatball sandwich, with shredded cheese and marina sauce that is just… _right_ and this, more than anything, rekindles my hope that he’ll get over Laura’s death eventually, because if _he_ can do, _I_ might be, too.

 When we're done with the sandwiches, the Major takes up the cards and Morsberg makes the shocking admission that he never really got poker and Maureen excuses herself, telling us that flying always leaves her a little drained – which I believe but I also have the slight suspicion that something _else_ drained her on that mission to Olesia – and goes to the first book on her stack while the Major makes it his mission to teach the Doc poker from scratch, with me as his backup instructor and somehow, at some point, things aren’t actually so terrible anymore.

 I’m not sure when exactly it happens but at some point, somewhere between Morsberg catching up at the game terrifyingly fast and screwing both me and the Major over and Maureen interjecting absolutely not helpful hints at random or reading us bits from the book she’s reading to shut us up when we get too loud for her and the Major genuinely laughing at some stupid joke I make, things don’t feel so painful anymore. Laura’s still somehow there, a presence back in my mind, but at some point, it doesn’t hurt so much to think of her anymore, and it’s more like knowing she’d have liked how this evening turned out, how we somehow, somewhere have learned to take care of each other even without her here, and that doesn’t make what happened on Olesia any better.

 But it makes _me_ better, and for now, I’ll take everything I can get to be able to cope with whatever this galaxy keeps flinging at me and the people I care about. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need a lot more of that in the future. Oh hell.


	11. That's How You Make A Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the shooting range, Thomas Moore tries to figure out what makes his XO shoot like shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, you knew this was coming, didn't you? The minute Laura Cadman told Maureen to go and talk to Tom about her weapons requalification issues, this was in my head and argh, of course I had to write it. I actually like it because I realized I don't write often enough about Tom as an actual leader, doing more than just yelling around orders. He's an O-4, field grade, and that means he knows a thing or two about what leadership means, and I like enjoy that (because more often than not, I write about his team mates talking back at him, ignoring his orders or questioning his judgement - stuff that makes him look like a weak leader whom no one takes seriously). So hey, Tom as an actual understanding human being, yay!
> 
> Also, a little info dump thing: in Marine speak, a "pizza box" is the ribbon signifying that you shot "Marksman" in your last weapons qualification (because it actually looks a bit like a take away pizza box for its coloring), which is the lowest score range you can get. Getting a "pizza box" is considered really shitty (and Tom is right, for a lot of Marines, wearing a "pizza box" invalidates everything you say, as can be read in Kate Germano's _Fight Like a Girl_ (go on, buy and read it, it's _awesome_ )). So yes, it might not be an issue for _Tom_ (as far as I know, no such thing exists in the Air Force but if anyone knows differently, please correct me!) but it sure as hell is an issue for _Maureen_ , and that makes sense when seen from the perspective of a female Marine. But since Tom _isn't_ a female Marine, it'll still take him a while to figure it out...
> 
> Timeline wise, we're a week after Olesia/ _These Are The Places You Will Find Me Hidin’_ and we're creeping on through the season sloooooowly...

**That’s How You Make A Hit**

_“There’s a gun for me_  
_There’s a gun for you_  
_Better shoot to kill_  
_You know what to do_  
_Break a line, do the time_  
_Need to find a clip_  
_Two fingers to the face_  
_That’s how you make a hit.”_

_Simon Curtis, “Laser Guns Up”_

 I can’t believe I let her talk me into this one. Must have been the aftermath of that mission to Olesia a week ago. I have to give her credit for not accosting me about one on one shooting drills _right_ after we came back from that clusterfuck and waiting two more days before coming to me but damn, she sure knows a weak spot when she sees it.

 I also can’t believe she came to _me_ instead of Dee, and I have yet to find out the reason behind that. I _tried_ to push it off to Dee but he wouldn’t have it, telling me “If she’d wanted me to give her those lessons, she’d have _asked me_. But she asked you. Sir.” I _bet_ she told _him_ , dammit. She always tells him all the complicated stuff, or rather he just manages to find a way to make her talk to him but she just gives _me_ either the stoic Marine or the Zen young woman and then _somehow_ gets the conversation turned around to address _my_ problems and we’re back to square one.

 Either way, somehow she managed to make me meet her at the outdoor shooting range to walk her through all the drills she needs for her weapons requalification, and we’re an hour in and I have yet to find out why we’re even _here_. She usually shoots fucking well, so _where_ is the damn problem?

 Maybe, if I’m being honest, the problem is that today, she’s _not_ shooting fucking well. She’s not atrociously bad, but the longer we’re here, the more near-misses and actual misses she produces. Now I’m not a certified shooting range instructor but trust me, I’ve been doing this shit long enough to know that this is _not_ how it’s supposed to work on the shooting range. Usually, you get better the longer you’re here because you’re able to correct angles and rhythm and all that. Captain Reece here? Not correcting anything.

 Right now, we’re at shooting rifle, ground position, with Reece lying on her stomach, propped up behind a M16, the Marine’s standard rifle and me kneeling next to her and slowly going insane. At first I attributed it to her maybe having become unfamiliar with the M16, considering that we next to never use it here and rely on the P90 instead – but no, no exceptions for Atlantis, every damn Marine’s gonna have to requalify with the standard rifle – but then I realized that this is not her style. She might not have been the most gung ho Marine when she left for Atlantis but even back then, she was that kind of diligent person who’d never let herself become unfamiliar with something she’d regularly encounter in her career, especially when her career kind of depended on being able to use it reasonably well in a competitive environment.

 Then I thought that maybe it _was_ the environment – Atlantis is really fucking big but you still have ever so slight rocking that can really mess with shooting results when you don’t factor it in, plus there’s some very noticeable wind going on here – but dismissed it because after having lived here for over a year and definitely having used this shooting range more than once, she damn well should be familiar with the particularities of this place.

 I also considered that maybe Olesia fucked her up more than I thought. It sure fucked _me_ up good, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t leave Dee cold, either. Fuck, even the Doc looked pretty much shell-shocked at the sheer waste the Wraith had laid at that planet. But then of all of us, she was the one who seemed to be able to cope best, what with her damn Zen mind and having us on her balcony and just listening to us and _probably_ being the only one smart enough to use the mandatory mental health appointments for _actual_ therapy. So either she was faking it really well those last days or it’s something else entirely.

 And I’d really like to know _what_ it is. Okay, you know what? “Captain? Time for a break.”

 Wow. If she finds a way to weaponize that _stare_ , she’ll definitely qualify ahead of _all_ of us. “I’m not done yet, sir.” I’m pretty sure that the radio actually softens it because it seems impossible for her voice not to match the look she just threw me before turning back to the optical sight of her rifle.

 “Yeah, but I am.” And last time I checked, I’m still the senior officer around here. If I’m done with a round, _you’re_ done with a round. “Secure your weapon, hydrate and then tell me what’s messing up your scores.”

 Okay, fine, it wasn’t the most subtle of approaches but I’m not a subtle guy, _everyone_ should know that by now. “Sir…”

 “It’s a damn _order_ , Captain.” Uh-huh. You insisted on this being an on-duty thing and kept calling me sir and I didn’t even attempt to correct you, so yeah, I do get to use the “It’s an order!” card. Don’t look at me like that, and _stop_ sulking. You’re too smart, too professional and too zen for that.

 So, okay, she didn’t _really_ look sullen but I could see it in the weirdly… passive-aggressive way she secured her rifle and took off her shooting range security gear when I did and in how she _didn’t_ look at me to get up and get herself a bottle of water. She also brings one back for me – I know, I know, this is _really_ shitty shooting range behavior, so don’t do this at home, kids, always stay in the designated area for food and drink on your home shooting range – and _that_ tells me more than anything that she’s mad at me.

 I mean, not the actual act of bringing me something to drink when I didn’t ask for it – that’s not unusual for her because she’s that kind of considerate – but the dropping it deliberately in a way that I had to shoot forward a little to catch it before it hits the ground. I frown at her. “The fuck did I do now, Kid?”

 “Honestly? You’re making this about yourself?” Okay. Someone’s really pissed off. And someone else – yes, _me_ – still has to get used to her actually taking that anger out on them. I mean, I just bet that anger has always been there whenever I did something or other wrong, she just didn’t air it that often at me. You know, other than that one time in the SGC gym when she punched me in the fucking face. I still remember that moment very fondly.

 Right now I know I should probably beat a tactical retreat but that way, we wouldn’t get anything done here today. So I make the noble sacrifice and do the counterintuitive thing: I keep engaging. “I don’t know. _Is_ it about myself?”

 There’s that little sound of disgust again, that low “ugh” sound she seems to have reserved especially for me, whenever she thinks I’m being an idiot, and yes, it doesn’t say anything good about me that after only maybe two months back on the same team, I’m already fully able to interpret it. Then she says, “Look, sir, I’m… sorry if I came across as a little…”

 “Salty?”

 “Abrasive.” She _almost_ smiled. I could _see_ it, she _wanted_ to smile when I said that. She’s so desperately trying to stay all formal and distanced that it’s a damn challenge to stay serious and not try to shake that resolve every chance I get. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t seem to get on Expert level, and it’s kind of… driving me a little crazy.”

 Oh. That was actually… pretty honest and straight forward. I’m not used to her being honest and straight forward with me. So, of course she doesn’t _lie_ to me – she couldn’t if her life depended on it, anyway – but she’s been more of a keeping her cards close to her chest person around me for most of the time we’ve known each other. She didn’t exactly wear her heart on her sleeve with me – that was always Laura’s or Dee’s part – and it’s kind of new to hear her tell me stuff she’d usually only tell other people.

 But first things first. Because there’s something that really bugs me about this whole shooting training thing. I roll my eyes. “Honestly, what’s with you Marines and that fixation on that damn badge, Kid? Every damn supply clerk wants one. What’s behind that?”

 And just like that, the shutters are back. Well done, Major, Well fucking done. “Every Marine…”

 “Is a rifleman, yeah, I know.” Because I’ve only heard it about a million times every time I came across one of the Corps platoon leaders at the SGC drilling their troops. Honestly, they’d be doing I don’t know getting familiarized with SGC lunch schedules and the LTs would be telling their charges that “every Marine is a rifleman, and don’t you forget it”. And that’s no answer to my question, Kid. “But seriously, isn’t it enough that you can shoot well enough in the field and qualify with _some_ thing?”

 She shakes her head and I’m pretty sure she’s working very hard not to, but her entire body seems to be communicating a version of “Your Air Force is showing way too clearly, and that greatly irritates me”. Oh God, I’m suddenly having a very hard time not to laugh, but this is obviously a very serious matter for her, and _someone_ once taught me that you don’t laugh at subordinates with Very Serious Matters. Not too openly, anyway. She frowns. “You have never worn a pizza box, have you?”

 No, because the pizza box isn’t a _thing_ in the Air Force. We don’t need to find some weird personal validation in how well we manage to hit a target and we sure as hell don’t have any need for distinguishing the not so good shooters from the rest so the other Airmen can make fun of them and simply invalidate anything they say, even if shooting has _nothing_ to do with it, by simply pointing out that their opposite didn’t even qualify above Marksman. Like, seriously, this is some messed up shit the Marines have going on there. And I can’t believe she of all people is somehow taking part in that. I roll my eyes again. “No one’s gonna _see_ the damn pizza box here, Kid.”

 Now she’s _very_ close to actual _pouting_. “Everyone’s gonna know about it, regardless.” Oh for _fuck’s_ sake.

 I can’t believe she somehow managed to turn into a bonafide gung-ho no one’s ever gonna take me seriously ever again with a pizza box on my chest kind of Marine. What _happened_ here in that year? And, for that matter, back on Earth? She still hasn’t talked about the promotion board, just told us that she has no intention of going back there anytime soon and left it at that. I can’t help shaking my head in disbelief. “Kid, when the fuck did you start taking this shit so serious?”

 She throws me one of those “What the hell are you talking about, are you dumb somehow?” looks I just bet she always had for me, just never gave them to me openly like that before. And she uses an according tone of voice I haven’t gotten ever before, too. “I’ve always been a Marine, sir.” Man, I really gotta get used to this new, more openly annoyed version of her.

 Because right now, the confusion at getting openly frustrated looks and tone of voice makes me flounder in my replies. “Yeah, but…” But what, Major? Huh?

 “Can we just go back to the drill, please, sir?” Yeah, that’s right, I deserved that. “I really have to get this down in two weeks, so really, can we talk about our… adaptive challenges later?” Adaptive… what?

 I blink at her. “The hell are you talking about _now_ , Kid?”

 There it is again. That slight exasperated eye roll she thought I wouldn’t see and then working hard to maintain a somewhat professional exterior for the benefit of her slightly dumb boss. That’s me, by the way. “Well, no offense, sir but… it’s obvious that you… I mean, that you seem to have… um…”

 Oh. Oh, no, no, no. Not _that_ again. Goddammit, I can’t believe she’s doing that _again_. She’s trying to deflect the conversation away from her. I’m done with this shit. She’s _obviously_ got _issues_ , and we’re damn well going to talk about them. Right fucking now. “Okay, look, this isn’t working. This is _not_ your standard performance, and we need to get to the fucking bottom of this.”

 And we’re back to annoyed at having our groove disturbed. Or our attempts at deflection and evasion. “The bottom, _sir_ , is that I have a damn weapons requalification in just…”

 Seriously, what’s her problem with… Crap. I just… I think I know what this is about. I know and that’s, of course, why I _have_ to blurt it out in the middle of her sentence. “Oh. Oh, fuck, _that’s_ it, isn’t?”

 “That’s _what_ , sir?” Okay, first of all, it’s not nice to interrupt your subordinate. I know. Sorry, Reece.

 And second of all, _maybe_ I should stop simply assuming that she’s a mind reader just because she sometimes has certain tendencies that way. Because right now, she definitely has no idea what I’m talking about. I have a bit of a hard time not smiling when explaining it to her. “You think I’m going to throw you off the team if you qualify below Expert.”

 “Sir, really, that’s not…” The lady doth protest too much.

 Which is how I know that I’m dead on. Fucking hell, that’s a first, isn’t it? “That’s _totally_ it. You’re afraid you’ll have to leave the team if you shoot anything below Expert.”

 “I honestly have no idea where you got that idea, sir.” Frankly, me neither.  

 But really, “Does it matter?”

 “Does what matter?” What the… come on, you’re smarter than this.

 I give her something I usually only receive from her: a dead-pan look. “Where I got the damn idea, Kid.” Yes, I also add the answer to that question immediately. “And no, it damn straight _doesn’t_ matter.” Because here’s the thing, “What matters is this: I’m not going to throw you off the team if you score below Expert.”

 It’s the truth, and nothing but the truth, and I’m kinda appalled that I actually have to spell it out for her. At least she looks vaguely contrite when she breaks eye contact and murmurs, “Sir, I…”

 And then it just kinda slips from my lips, “I really thought you of all people would know me better,” and I know immediately that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, everything considered.

 It is, of course, immediately met with an evil look, and a definite edge to her voice when she replies, “ _I_ of all people, sir?”

 Serves me right, I guess. Referring to her brainwashing episode is something We Do Not Do in this team. I’m fairly sure that she’s put it all behind her and is over it – because unlike everyone else on this team, Reece takes her mandatory mental health appointments seriously – but yeah, even I can see why mentioning my decision to keep her on the team after the whole thing is kind of inappropriate in the current context. Consequentially, I end up stuttering myself through some kind of bullshit explanation, “Yeah, I mean you… you’ve got that really freaky thing with… you know.”

 She shakes her head and once again manages to look like she’s the adult in this weird working relationship we have. And quite frankly, through the last couple of weeks, I’ve gotten an inkling that that might actually be true. “No, sir, I don’t. I’ve got that really freaky thing with _what_ , sir?”

 Crap, I hate it when she finds something to stick to and wait. No, this isn’t how this works. Not getting fooled again. Nope. “Nuh-uh, you’re not going to turn this conversation around again.”

 “Sir, you’re not making a damn lick of sense right now!” Why does she always have to be so damn sensible when I least need it?

 Because she’s right, I really am not making much sense, at least not to her, and I can’t even fault her for that. Damn. “Okay, fine. I’ll tell you something that’ll _make_ sense. Make something clear once and for all now.”

 “Sir?” She’s working very hard to conceal it but something in what I just said… scared her? Or at least worries her? Damn, I really need to get better at reading her.

 And obviously, I need to get better at reassuring my subordinates, too. I resist a resigned sigh. “I will _not_ throw you off the team for qualifying with mediocre scores.” That would just be stupid. I mean, honestly, who even _does_ that kind of crap? “Nor Dee or Morsberg, for that matter.” I still _might_ throw the Doc out of the team for other stuff as soon as Lorne gives me permission to but yeah, let’s be fair, shooting like shit wouldn’t be it. “Hell, I’d not even throw any of you off the team if you _didn’t_ qualify. I’d just drag you to the shooting range until you get it right.” That it wouldn’t be pretty and we’d both hate it goes unsaid but I’m pretty sure she knows that, anyway. She’s smart like that. “But I _wouldn’t_ just throw you out. Because that’s not how this works. It’s not how _I_ work. You’re on my team, I don’t throw you under the bus. It’s as easy as that. You got that?” Honestly, I thought she’d _know_ all that by now. There were plenty of times when I could have written her up or thrown her out and I never did. _How_ could she get it in her head that I’d fire her for something as trivial as mediocre shooting scores?

 She nods. “Yes, sir.”

 I’m… not convinced. I don’t think she outright lied to me, but I think she’s trying very hard to convince herself that she fully got what I just said. I frown at her. “Kid, I’m being serious. Do you _understand_ that?”

 I almost expect her to look at me with that “I’m not a fucking idiot” look she must have learned from Laura but all she does is nod again, her face serious and I guess… that really made an impression on her? “Yes, sir. And sir?”

 Oh come on, what now? “What?”

 “You were right.” Huh? I was? About what? “I of all people should have known better. I’m sorry.” Okay, that… surprises me, at least mildly? I kind of hadn’t expected her to openly admit that I actually had a point, and that it was a really good point. Personally, I found it a little… offensive to mention her brainwashing and the clusterfuck at the rogue NID base and you know, me needing a bit of time for Laura and Dee to convince me that she was worth going toe to toe with General O’Neill over keeping her on the team.  

 Dammit, she kind of threw me off guard, and I hate it when that happens. So I do the thing I always do: try to steer the conversation away from the minefield as fast as possible. “’s fine, Kid. Now go shoot me a perfect round so we can leave for dinner. I’m fucking _starving_.”

 She _almost_ grins. Just like that almost smile a couple of minutes ago. Why does she do that? She has no problems with frowning and glaring at me, but _positive_ facial expressions are verboten or what? “Yes, sir. And… thank you, sir.”

 Yeah, of course she wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of being rude. Now I can’t even be pissed off that she had the gall to drag me out here, make me have a conversation about complicated personal stuff which I really, _really_ hate and then not even properly thank me for it. Of _course_ she’d properly thank me for it. Ah, hell. I try not to sound too friendly when I put my earmuffs and tactical glasses back on and tell her, “You’re welcome. Now shut up and give me that perfect round.”

 “Yes, sir.” And damn her, I can see her fucking smiling while she’s back on the ground, prone behind her M16 and aiming. It hard to detect in that position but it’s _there_. I could _hear_ it. What the _fuck_ did I do that I almost never get one directed at me, full frontal, definitely meant for me?

 Maybe, just _maybe_ that’s why she could talk me into doing this in the first place. Because I’d fucking do anything for a smile or even just a grin from her, and she probably doesn’t even know that. Good to have this cleared up, too, and establish just _how_ pathetic I really am, then. Great. Just another day at the office, I guess.

 And then she shoots. A perfect round. Of _course_ she does. Ah, hell.


	12. Like You’re Six Feet Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Thomas Moore has a really hard time warming up to the Pegasus Galaxy? It keeps throwing stuff like _this_ at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a while. And updates will indeed be coming way more slowly for the time being. I _just_ started a new job on Friday and moved about 600km away from home on top of it, without a permanent place to stay yet (that's hopefully going to change in the course of next week. And don't worry, I still do have a place in my hometown, I'm not completely homeless. I just need to find a permanent place to stay in the new city, for the duration of the contract. It'll work out. I hope.), so yeah... updates will probably have to wait until I'm a little more settled in. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank the friends who helped me with this story because it's medical stuff, and I still have to rely heavily on the expertise of others for that. So, **Semo** (and Mr. Semo), **Pingulotta** and **Keira** , thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for helping me out with this. Your input is greatly appreciated and this story would not have worked without you!
> 
> Timelinewise, this is about a week or maybe ten days after the mission to Olesia and maybe two or three days after _That's How You Make A Hit_ and takes place during "Trinity" (see if you spot the reference. If you do, give yourself a pat on the shoulder!). Have fun reading it!

** Like You’re Six Feet Underground **

_“Do you feel alone when you’re surrounded by_  
_Everyone you know_  
_Do you ever feel down_  
_Like you’re six feet underground_  
_Can’t dig your way out this hole.”_

_Amy MacDonald, “Prepare to Fall”_

 Let me make one thing clear: this is not the Doc’s fault. Whatever is going to happen, this is not Morsberg’s fault, so don’t let him tell you otherwise.

 That said: I hate this galaxy. Because _this_ shit _never_ happened back in the Milky Way. We had a lot of _other_ shit happening, and most of it was annoying and inconvenient and pretty much scary, too but there was at least one constant: no one ever got _sick_. Stabbed, shot, body-switched, brainwashed, limps broken, limps sprained, totally. Sick? Not so much. Not _one_ of us, not _once_.

 And here we are, three months in a new galaxy, a little over one of them as a team, currently underground, on a recon mission to a supposedly abandoned outpost of unknown origin and my damn sergeant just started “feeling a little under the weather” before not waiting even five minutes to tell us that “he might have to take a break”. In Dee’s vocabulary, this means that he’s close to becoming a liability instead of an asset.

 Or, in more direct terms, he’s about to fucking keel over from exhaustion.

 I frown at Morsberg. “Doc? Take a look, please?”

 He gives me a glare. So far, nothing new. “Already on it.” Sir. There’s a “sir” missing. _What_ did I do now?

 Oh fine, have it your way, I really don’t care. I nod at Reece, pretending I don’t share the worry I can see in her face. “Give the Doc some lighting, Captain. I’ll go take care we don’t get any surprise visitors.”

 This planet _should_ be uninhabited, or at least that’s what aerial recon suggested last week but since it has a planetary Stargate instead of an orbital one, it’s absolutely possible that this could have changed already days ago. Considering the Atlantis contingent’s track record so far, this entire situation clearly spells “set-up for a clusterfuck of epic proportions”. I _hate_ clusterfucks.

 Alright, then. Reece is resuming her usual job of unskilled labor for the Doc, while I keep an eye on the lifesigns detector – which is kind of useless down here but you never know, right? – and an ear out for any uninvited guests to this little recon party. Something just… rubs me wrong about this mission, and I don’t only mean the fact that my favorite sergeant – someone who _never_ gets sick, swear to God – all of a sudden doesn’t look so good, after all. I have, as I’d say if I were a Star Wars nerd, a really bad feeling about this.

 For the time being, though, all is quiet on the bunker front, so I allow myself to shift my attention temporarily to my team members. As of now, Dee is sitting on the ground, his back against the wall, his legs bend at the knees, while both Reece and Morsberg are crouching in front of him. So far, that doesn’t look too bad, right? Okay, let’s annoy the resident medic a little more. “Doc? Anything yet?”

 He doesn’t turn around but I just _bet_ he rolled his damn eyes. He really likes rolling his eyes at me. As does Reece. I’m not sure what that says about my qualities as a team leader but… “I’m _working_ on it, sir. Right now, it could be literally anything.”

 That’s not helpful. Not at _all_. But I guess saying so would just result in a somewhat deserved set-down, or maybe some muttered German that’s guaranteed to piss me off just because I still suspect that he’s doing that mostly because he full well knows that the only other person on this team who understands it is Reece. I take a deep breath. “Okay. But hurry up, alright. Something’s not right here.”

 I expect him, or maybe Reece, to tell me to shut up in a version that won’t get them immediately written up for insubordination but to my surprise, both look at me and nod, and it’s Reece saying, “I agree, sir. It’s too quiet, and there was some evidence outside that someone was here recently.” She’s right. It was well concealed and I almost missed it but there were a few tells that made me suspicious. I’m just surprised that she saw it, too.

 Which is totally stupid because she’s been longer in this galaxy than I have, and I should really stop seeing her as that little lieutenant from almost a year and a half ago.

 A short look at the lifesigns detector, though, tells me that we’re still alone here. But yeah, that far into concrete walls, it’s not let’s say very reliable. Dammit. “Dee?”

 I don’t get an immediate answer, and I really hope that’s just due to the Doc probing Dee’s lymph nodes for swelling – see, I _did_ pay attention when my last medic tried to teach me the finer points of infection diagnosis! – but of course that gets bashed in as soon as he says, sounding alarmingly breathless and kind of… out of it, “Right now… I’m kind of busy shivering my ass off, sir.”

 Yeah, that’s really not him. The one reason why this work relationship is still functioning after ten years is that Simon DeLisle is the most even-tempered person I have ever known. Time to step this up, after all, and damn my medic being pissed at me, _again_. “Doc, _what_ is taking you so long?”

 I don’t get an immediate answer and that’s… not exactly reassuring. So far, Morsberg has always been fast, confident and concise with assessments on missions, which is why this is… weird. Then again, until now medical issues on missions were more up his alley as surgeon and emergency doctor. And unlike Laura, this guy hasn’t finished his residency yet. Uh-oh.

 Finally, he gets up and comes walking over, after telling Reece something about “paracetamol” in a low voice. This is _not_ his usual MO. I know he’s only been on this team for four, maybe five months and we’ve only been on missions for two and a half but so far, he hasn’t ever felt the need to bring some distance between himself and a patient before giving a sit-rep. Until now, he apparently could have cared less about his bedside manner, especially in the field. This is _not_ getting better.

 And yep, I was right. The low voice and the slightly nervous gestures totally confirm my misgivings. “We’ve got a problem, sir.”

 I really, _really_ know I shouldn’t do this but I honestly just can’t help it. I _have_ to be a sarcastic little shit. “Really? I could never tell, what with the sergeant who never gets sick suddenly feeling under the weather and all.”

 The fact that he doesn’t even stop to glare at me tells me that yes, this was _absolutely_ inappropriate. God, I hope Reece didn’t just hear me. “Sergeant DeLisle is running a high fever, mentioned headaches, tiredness, joint pains and difficulties with staying focused.”

 I frown. “Sounds awfully much like the flu, Doc. That _is_ a problem, I agree, but…”

 “It’s _not_ the flu, sir.” Huh? “His lymph nodes are fine. If this were the flu, I probably wouldn’t even have to search for them. There’d also be other symptoms he’s lacking. And most importantly, _we_ would probably be just as sick.”

 Damn, fair points, especially the last one. “So…”

 “So I don’t…”

 “Crap, Mats, something’s happening!” _Exactly_ the thing you _don’t_ want to hear from your XO when your medic is trying to tell you that he has no fucking clue what’s going on.

 Immediately, both our attention is back on Dee and _holy shit this is bad_ , even for Atlantis standards. There, on the ground, my sergeant is having seizures. Violent, painful looking seizures.

 And if that wasn’t enough, the absolute helpless feeling at having to watch this and _knowing_ that there’s nothing I can do, all my academic and goddamn special forces training useless, catapults me back to that day, a little over a year ago, when I felt exactly the same thing the moment I stepped into that cave full of bodies where I left my best friend just an hour before. This is _so_ not a good moment for this.

 Okay, you’re the damn team leader. _Lead_.

 Thankfully, while I’m trying to get my shit back together, the conscious rest of my team  already stepped up to act, and at least Morsberg found back into his groove, the momentary insecurity of feeling out his depth with something that couldn’t be solved by slapping a bandage on it or stitching it up all forgotten. He’s directing Reece to help him make sure Dee doesn’t kill himself by choking or otherwise injuring himself and they’re both doing a good job and I feel an awful lot like this might turn into one of those things you should talk about with one of the Expedition’s psycho docs.

 Good thing _someone_ still needs to keep up watching our surroundings. At least that gives me the opportunity to get busy elsewhere and get a grip on those ghosts that managed to chase me here all the way from the Milky Way. It doesn’t look like… _crap_. “Guys? Either the lifesigns detector is acting up,” wouldn’t be the first time, considering what the Wraith did to our sensors during the siege, “or we’re about to get company.”

 “Lifesigns detector isn’t acting up, sir.” Again, not something you want to hear from your XO. “I can hear them. They’re still a few crossings out but definitely coming towards us.”  Your XO with the very sensitive hearing who never failed alarming you before. _Fuck_.

 Turning around, I can see that they get a hold on Dee and that apparently, he’s not convulsing anymore. I don’t even want to know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Doc?”

 “Unconscious, sir.” Little bit of both, then. “Also, not getting any better. I still don’t know what this is, but it’s progressing aggressively fast, and it’s about to get a _lot_ worse, if that just was any indication.” There are only few things that are worse than “unconscious” and “seriously sick”, and all of them are horrible.

 Right then, that’s enough. I don’t even care whose lifesigns that are on the detector, but they’re standing in our way back to base, and they have to _go_ , one way or another. “Doc…”

 And there goes another seizure. And the lifesigns just stopped moving at a strategically well place crossing ahead of us. Exactly where I’d be laying down an ambush if that were me. Crap, crap, _crap_. Okay, this is bad but not unsolvable. Maybe… “Mats? Please tell me he’s not going to die?” How about you _stay away from anything that contains the d-word_ , Reece? I _heard_ that, even in a whisper. I’m not fucking _deaf_.

 I scowl at her. “No one’s gonna fucking die today. Tell her so, Doc.”

 That was an order. And _of course_ it gets ignored. “Honestly? I’m not so sure right now.” This is not how this works. I order you to do something, you _do it_. Is this very easy principle not _known_ in Germany? “He’s dangerously sick but I have no idea what’s happening to him. I _know_ I’m missing something but I have no idea what it is. We really need to get this sorted out and get him back to Atlantis.”

 Right. Time to calm down and do some real leading for a change. Thank God both of them seem to have temporarily lost their ability to read me like a beginner’s textbook in either of their disciplines and Dee is kind of out of it, so all my subordinates hopefully overlooked my little freak out. I try not to take a deep breath. “Okay, Doc, you stay here and take care of the Sergeant. Keep an ear out for trouble but unless you hear a different order from me, you don’t move. _At all_.” He nods. Reluctantly, but he nods. Good thing he still cares more about his patients than wanting in on the action. I honestly wasn’t so sure about that for the first few weeks. “Reece, you’re with me. We’re going to have a little look at the company.”

 She gets up, after making sure that Dee’s taken care of and then joins me in carefully retracing our steps, P90s raised, communicating entirely by hand signs, and I know I shouldn’t say this anymore but I still can’t get over how much more natural and easy soldiering – Or Marine-ing, anyway, _why_ are they so particular about that? – comes to her now. She was never really _bad_ at it, she just didn’t approach it right. That’s a thing of the past now, and that still totally weirds me out.

 Good thing I once learned how to focus on the important things, then, huh?

 I give my radio a short series of clicks, to alert Morsberg that we made it to our target and are hunkering down just a few yards away from where the lifesigns detector shows their positions, P90s still raised.

 The let’s call it interesting thing is that they don’t seem to have heard us coming because they keep talking in low voices. It sounds like English, but is too quiet to actually understand anything. I signal for Reece to ask her if she can hear more and yes, of course she can. She’s freakishly fast when she’s talking in ASL, and I get about half of what she’s saying. Apparently, I’m still rusty and the guy back in Black Ops who taught me would probably have a few rather rude signs for me if he knew about that. I sign for her to slow down.

 She looks like she has great difficulties not to roll her eyes and instead spells out one of the words I didn’t get because she was so fast and… G E N I I. Oh come _on_. I ask her how she knows that and I get back… their _accent_? Seriously? She could tell from their _accent_? Every recording I heard or saw of them made it clear that they don’t even _have_ a particular accent. Damn linguists, always having to show off.

 Alright, fine. Genii, then. Reece signals again and oh she wants to flush them out using a flashbang and possibly a hand grenade or two, as well. How nice. And while I appreciate her suggestion in spirit – trust me, there’s _nothing_ I’d like to do more than just blast our way out of this bunker, and also, her newly acquired thirst for violence is kind of maybe possibly a _little_ bit of a turn-on – it doesn’t make sense in our current position. The possible yield isn’t worth the possible cost of us getting caught in the blast wave _and_ a wave of nasty shrapnel, especially since we don’t know whether they have backup stationed by the Gate or not.

 I signal her no and she… circumvent? _How_? Okay, slow down, Kid, _slow down_ … yeah, that’s better. Door… back… Backdoor a few crossings back? How did she even… Noticed it on the way in, filed it away… doesn’t know if it’s _really_ a backdoor because the faded signs on it were inconclusive. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

 So, to summarize, our options are: blasting our way free, getting wounded or dying in the process and going back to try and sneak out the backdoor, not knowing if it _is_ a backdoor and possibly ending up trapped in a dead end, with Dee being unconscious and you know generally not in best condition.

 Have I mentioned that I _hate_ this galaxy yet?

 Here goes nothing. I signal for her to retreat and do the backdoor thing, put a new series of clicks through the radio so Morsberg doesn’t shoot us and we manage to come back to where the Doc and Dee are still waiting for us. Or maybe the Genii at the ambush site just let us go, knowing something we don’t. Everything is possible in this shit hole of a galaxy.

 Reece, probably forgetting that Morsberg doesn’t know ASL, rapidly signs the plan for him and yeah, no, he doesn’t get it. New item on the training plan: have Reece finally teach the Doc ASL basics because trust me, it’ll make a _lot_ of things easier.

 At Morsberg’s uncomprehending look, I try tactical hand signs and that finally seems to work, even if it was crude compared to what Reece can do with a combination of ASL and some pretty specialized tactical hand signs. After way too many minutes, we manage to track back to the door that Reece mentioned, so faded and rusty that it blends in so well with the bunker wall that I nearly missed it the first time. We somehow manage to carry Dee inside and make it a few yards until I hear the Doc half-whisper behind me, sounding as if he just had an epiphany. “Shit, I _know_ what it is.”

 What the fuck is he even talking about and why can’t he do it while on the move? “Doc?”

 “Scheiße, wie konnte ich denn nur so _blöd_ sein?” I _hate_ it when he does that.

 I don’t fucking speak German! Only Reece can do that! _She_ ’s the damn linguist. I glare at him, which is probably useless in the sparse light from our P90s scopes because from his current position behind me, carrying Dee on his shoulders, he can’t even see it. “ _Doc_.“

 “Malaria.“ Huh?

 I still have no clue what he’s talking about. Malaria _what_? “What?“

 “Malaria. That’s what this is.” Oh. Oh, _that’s_ what he’s been talking about. His diagnosis. Huh. Not bad for a surgeon, I guess? “Or something like it, Pegasus style. It was _right_ there and I didn’t even…”

 But yes, back to the important things here. “Doc, can you _treat_ it?”

 He gently lowers Dee on the ground, shaking his head and then crouching down to take Dee’s vitals. From the look of his face… it doesn’t look so good. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t even have happened because we’re all on prophylaxis but _everything_ points to a pathogen that’s doing exactly what malaria does.” Yes, Doc, the _important things_. “I might have something to treat the symptoms and stabilize him until we’re back in Atlantis but we really need to hurry the fuck up.”

 Good. _Now_ we’re getting somewhere. Let’s have some action here. “Good enough. Doc, you do your thing, then carry Dee. We’ll switch if necessary. Reece, you take point, I’ll bring up the rear for now. _Move_ it.” And that’s how we roll, right?

 Right.

 In the end, it’s exactly the clusterfuck I predicted. Because of _course_ Dee had to get another seizure and of _course_ the Genii knew about the backdoor and just used the first ambush site as a way to flush us out and of _course_ we spent way too much ammo in the ensuing shoot out and _yes_ , of course someone – Me. It was me. – ended up yelling “Fire in the fucking hole!” and getting caught by the tail end of the blast wave and being lucky that that happened outside, not in the damn bunker and still having their arm sliced neatly by shrapnel.

 And yes, of course this ends with us hightailing it out of there – it’s a miracle the Genii _don’t_ have backup stationed by the Gate and I’m not going to question that for the time being because that way, madness lies – and yelling “Coming in hot, get an emergency med team to the Control Room!” into our radios before making it back to Atlantis, weirdly interrupting Dr. Weir reading Rodney McKay the riot act for… destroying a solar system or something?

 After that, it’s a bit of a blur, mainly because I’m trying to make sure my sergeant gets all the treatment and care he needs and my _medic_ tries to make sure _I_ get my shrapnel souvenir treated and Reece has to be the buffer again, at some point telling us both to “shut the fuck up and be reasonable adults, good God, that really shouldn’t be so hard for two grown men” before stalking off to get herself checked out and leaving a speechless me with a speechless Morsberg.

 Which is how I end up with having the wound on my arm – a messy but otherwise harmless flesh wound, as it turned out – being treated by my combat medic, after all. I think he might actually be grateful for that, considering that a) this is something he really does know how to do in his sleep, blindfolded, backwards and in heels and b) it hopefully takes his mind off what is happening in the ICU right now. Doesn’t really work for _me_ but like I said, I‘ve been serving for ten years with Dee, I’m allowed to be worried.

 Morsberg is almost done now, fixing the bandage and telling me, “You know how to take care of this, right?” and adding, probably for good measure when I give him a dead-pan look, telling him that yes, I do know, this isn’t my first shrapnel wound, “Seriously. Please don’t mess up my work on this. That _is_ the one thing I’m actually good at,” and I realize resignedly that this is one of those situations when you have to prove that being a team leader means more than just yelling around orders on the battlefield.

 It also means, for better or worse, to know when to be nice and fair to your subordinates, no matter if they continuously rub you the wrong way or not.

 As Reece would say, ugh.

 Alright, fine. But I _can_ make it sound as casual as possible, can’t I? Yes, of course, sure. I take care not to clear my throat or preface it by any other sound or gesture, just let it roll off offhandedly. “You did good today, Doc.”

 Morsberg just keeps putting away used up materials and instruments, avoiding my eyes. “All due respect, sir…”

 Nuh-uh. You don’t get to tell me my praise wasn’t justified. Because it damn well _was_. “Just listen. No talking, that’s an order.” Carrying a man of Dee’s size and stature for as long as he did isn’t exactly something you do every day for fun, his diagnosis turned out to be spot on or at least that’s what the preliminary tests said or something like that, and no one died on this mission, despite great potential for it. In my book, that counts as “doing good”. And it’s _my_ book that counts. “ Look, as my combat medic, it’s your job to get us all to the infirmary alive. And that’s what you did. Dee’s alive, I’m alive, Reece is alive, _you_ are alive. Well fucking done, Stabsarzt.”

 “I uh… Thank you, sir.” What, not even the usual move to correct my pronunciation? Huh. That’s new. Either I’m getting better or I just really managed to floor him. I’m not sure what would be better.

 Also, it just got really hard not to mess this up by giving him a hard time for being floored. But I just bet Reece is still lurking around here somewhere waiting for me to finish up and accompany her to check our stuff back in at the armory and she _always_ hears crap like that, and since she apparently isn’t afraid of me anymore, doesn’t hesitate to call me out on it. Even though she still feels embarrassed by it later. Come to think of it, it’s kind amusing to…

  _Anyway_. Back on track here. “You’re welcome, Doc. Now go get yourself checked out and then let someone else do the heavy lifting for a while.”

 “Sir…” _No_ , goddammit.

 “That’s a damn order, too.” _Why_ does every team I end up commanding have to be one full of people who constantly make me tell them I just gave them an order? If you have to explicitly tell people that you just gave them an order, you’re doing something _wrong_ , and I really wish I knew what that is in my case. All that is lacking for this team to be just as messed up as my last one is people thinking it’s a damn democracy, and considering that this new team is three quarters of my last team, that’s pretty likely to happen sooner than later.

 “Yes, sir.” At least Morsberg seems to have realized that I meant business about ordering him to take a break and step away from the infirmary for a few hours to get some sleep and some distance from what happened today.

 Or maybe he’s just waiting for me to get out of the infirmary so he can wallow a little more in his perceived failure and put those hours he could have used to sleep into research that others could very well do for him, just because he feels needlessly guilty about something.

 Mh. It’s kind of scary how well I’ve come to know this guy in the space of maybe two, three months.

 But yeah, right now, he just left the little cubicle where he had my sit on a table so he could stitch up my arm and I’m ready to… “Laura would be proud.” _Fuck it, I knew she was still around_ and she _still_ nearly made me jump off the table. _How_ did she get so good at sneaking up on others? And damn me for my only response being looking at her kind of clueless. She shrugs. “It _was_ a nice speech, sir.”

 Right. She actually listened in on this. Of _course_ she did. Ah, hell. “Do you agree? With… the speech?” Why am I doing this? I’m seeking her approval. _Again_. I should stop doing that. She’s several years younger and a damn captain. A major constantly seeking approval from a captain several years his junior is how you end up in front of a court-martial. And yet, here I am. I roll my eyes at myself and add a muttered, “Of course you agree, why am I even asking?” Wait, don’t answer that, just let me change the topic to something less embarrassing first. “Got yourself checked out?” 

 She’s considering not letting me off the hook and saying something about this whole “agreeing with the speech” thing, I can _see_ that. She used to be hard to read but it’s a lot easier when you learn what you have to look for. She _definitely_ was about to do her “speak first, think later” thing but regrettably chooses not to, this time. “Yes, sir. Everything fine. You?”

 Were we even on the same miss… oh, wait, she means the preliminary blood work. Right. Yes. I shrug. “Aside from a hole in my arm, yeah, fine. So…”

 “So shower and dinner should be next.” Damn, no one fucking likes killjoys, Captain. “Trust me, sir, they won’t let us anywhere near Critical Care like this.” And people like killjoys with a point even less, _okay_?

 But, okay, fine. “Fair enough.” Can’t resist a little dig, though, because sometimes, she makes it so easy. “Just one more question: how do they feel about having dinner in this place?”

 “They hate it.” Mh, not really in the mood for shenanigans, I see.

 I can’t help grinning at her, anyway, and being a bit of my usual asshole self, just to cheer her up a little. “They’ll just have to learn to get over that, then.” She doesn’t seem to find it funny. And that just made me realize that in all of this, I never even considered that she’s Dee’s friend, too and probably has to carry her fair share of worry around with her, too, and still manages to stay absolutely professional and focused, anyway. Which must be taking a bigger toll than she’s been letting on so far. Fuck, I really _am_ an asshole. Okay, yes, _some_ atonement is probably due here. I try a half-smile, a real one. “And Kid? You did good today, too.”

 It finally yields a satisfactory result, as in she unwinds at least enough to mirror my half-smile, when she says, “Thanks, sir.”

 Good enough for me. “You’re welcome.”

 And I guess… that’s a wrap, so I hop off the damn table, take my share of equipment and take up the walk back to the armory, not being able to resist one last stab at the infirmary’s strict “no food on the premises” policy and somehow that doesn’t set off Reece enough to just walk off and leave me to figure out what I did wrong this time. Instead it turns into an actual easy conversation serving to distract both of us at least for a few minutes from the glaringly obvious elephant in the room that is one team member nearly dying on a mission and probably facing some serious long-term health issues, and I really think both of us just needed that.

 Because having almost witnessed a team member dying and now being aware of the fact that there might be serious long-term health issues that _might_ turn into a medical discharge after twenty years for someone who made the damn uniform his _life_ and was planning on staying as long as he could because that’s all he thinks he knows to do is fucking _terrifying_ is what it is.

 God, I _hate_ this galaxy. Have I mentioned that yet?


	13. Whatever Comes And However Painful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon DeLisle wakes up to the aftermath of collapsing on a mission and has to face a few unpleasant truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, happy belated International Women's Day to yooooooooooooou, all my wonderful women readers! Whatever you did, I hope you were somehow smashing the patriarchy and honoring the feminist giants on whose shoulders we stand today. 
> 
> Anyway, we're at three days after _Like You're Six Feet Underground_ , and Dee is going to have to face some not so nice truths (aka "possible medical discharge"). Luckily, he still has his team, so yay, team! This will be, for the foreseeable future, the last pre-written chapter, and it might take a while until you get a new one. I'm still trying to figure out stuff involving my new job and temporary new living situation and somehow, my head seems too full to write right now (my new job involves a lot of thinking things through and figuring things out and right now, that kind of took over my brain. I hope it all settles a little in the course of next week but yeah, it might take a while). I won't forget about this, though, don't worry.

**Whatever Comes And However Painful**

_“So carry on, carry on, carry on_   
_Whatever comes and however painful, however long_   
_When your hope has been denied you_   
_I will walk beside you, carry on.”_

_Ben’s Brother, “Carry On”_

 To put it mildly: I definitely had better waking ups than this.

 I mean, I also had worse ones but most of those happened a long time ago. Way back when I was on the Agency’s roster, and some very few times when I was doing Black Ops with the Major, before, you know, he made Major and dragged me all the way to Colorado Springs. Okay, to be fair, I didn’t object and… Anyway. That’s not the point.

 The point is that I feel like someone pushed me out of a C-130 without a parachute or maybe ran me over with an M1 Abrams. Repeatedly. _After_ they threw me out of the C-130. Or something like that. Well, you get the picture. I feel, basically, like _shit_.

 So yeah, I count it as a major success to be able to open my eyes _and_ lift my hand far enough to clear away some grit making it kind of hard to see clearly. Only to notice that I have a butterfly needle sticking in the back of my hand and a thin tube attached to it. Okay. That doesn’t bode well. Not unusual for waking up in hospital beds but also not the best of outcomes, and trust me, I have nearly twenty years of experience on this.

 “Hey. Welcome back.” Oh. At least the company is nice.

 Now that I finally can see halfway straight, I can identify the person sitting next to my bed: one Captain Maureen Reece, apparently killing time with homework for her new long distance Master’s classes while waiting for me to wake up, judging from the three textbooks piled on the foot end of my bed, lose sheets of paper with handwritten notes on a second chair and the laptop balanced on her legs. I try a smile. “‘S good to be back.” Even though I feel like shit and realize I don’t even really know why. Also, something else is bugging me. “You all alone?”

 She nods, belatedly realizing that she spread her stuff out in a two feet radius around herself and putting the laptop on the ground to gather up the textbooks and her notes, telling me, “Yeah. Graveyard shift just took over, and I had to send both Mats and the Major off to their quarters.”

 Honestly, I wouldn’t even mind if she kept using my bed as storage space. It’s not like I’m going to be a very active user of it anytime soon, anyway. But yeah, mentioning it will probably just trigger a little flood of apologies, and that would just be mean. I concentrate on the conversation, instead, expressing profound disbelief with my next question, “And they let you?”

 She rolls her eyes, sitting down and tugging her legs under her in her chair. One day, I _will_ find out how the hell she does that. Those infirmary chairs aren’t exactly big. “They weren’t exactly in the shape to do anything about it.”

 Meaning, probably, that they were both exhausted from not sleeping and that never means good news. Usually, when Morsberg doesn’t sleep, it’s something medical related, and when the _Major_ doesn’t sleep, it’s team related. And since _I_ _’m_ the one lying in a hospital bed and everyone else isn’t… I frown. “How long… Maureen, how long was I out?”

 She doesn’t squirm, and she doesn’t have to for me to know that she’d rather not tell me because it’s pretty evident in the small time delay before she finally says, sounding very quiet, “Three days.”

 What the… _what_? “Holy _shit_.”

 Her face is kind of apologetic, and I think that’s also where she wanted to go with her tone of voice but when she says, “You had us pretty worried there for at least a day,” she ends up sounding very sober and even quieter. That, more than anything tells me that whatever put me in the infirmary was pretty grave.

 Which, of course, leads to my next question. “What the fuck _happened_?”

 It’s her turn looking at me quizzically. “How much do you remember?”

 See, _that’s_ kind of the entire problem. I shake my head. “Basically nothing that happened after snapping at the Major back in that bunker and then passing out.”

 “Dee…” What? Why is she hesitating? Why is she _squirming_? “You didn’t pass out.” Oh, trust me, I’d definitely _know_ if I didn’t pass out. Because I’d damn well remember what happened in that case. “Not… exactly, anyway.” Maureen, _start making sense_. “You had a seizure.” I had a what now? “You had a seizure, fell unconscious and stayed that way until a few minutes ago. _That’s_ what happened.”

 I… don’t understand. I really don’t remember anything like that. I remember… bits and pieces but most of that were things that happened a long time ago, so I must have either been dreaming or… hallucinating? Crap, was I _hallucinating_? “Maureen, you’re my friend, I like you and I’m asking this in the nicest way possible but… what the fuck is fucking wrong with me?”

 Because everything in her behavior – the quiet tone, the squirming, the avoiding eye contact thing – tells me that whatever happened isn’t over yet. That and the fact that I’m still not feeling really up to scratch _and_ am connected to various monitors plus have at least two needles stuck in my hand and arm feeding something liquid into my veins.

 She hesitates, then somehow manages to make herself even smaller on that chair than she already is and reties her out of regulation messy bun into an equally messy out of regulation bun. She’s stalling, until she finally comes up with, “Jury’s still out on it.” Well _that’s_ reassuring. “But everything points towards malaria.”

 What? “That’s… not possible. I mean, we are all on prophylaxis, right?”

 She nods, slowly. “We are. But apparently, this is a Pegasus variant that’s not covered by Earth prophylaxis. They’re not sure when you picked it up but it must have been one of the off-world missions in the last two weeks because that’s when they last took your blood and it was still clean back then.”

 Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad, right? I mean, malaria is treatable and curable if it’s diagnosed early enough, isn’t it?

 Okay, wait. I might still feel like crap but I’m lucid enough to know if something’s off. And something’s _really_ off here. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 She bites her lip, something she only very rarely does now, probably because she’s fully aware of how young that makes her look, and newly minted captains in the US Marine Corps promoted way below-the-zone can’t afford to look young. This still isn’t reassuring in the least. “It’s not… It’s not my place to tell you. I lack the competence for that and…”

 “You’re one of my superior officers, Maureen. _If_ you know something, I’d very much prefer to hear it from one of _you_.” That’s hitting below the belt, I know, but she’s not just a lowly lieutenant on the team anymore, the lowest rung on the ladder. She’s the XO, and she’s shown that she has the guts to fill out that position in the field – and, curiously, any time the Major is being an idiot when she’s around to notice it – so I can damn well expect her to have them back in the barracks, as well. “So what _aren’t you telling me_?”

 “Look, it’s complicated because currently, no one around here really knows what to make of your bloodwork.” This is not really getting better. “But like I said, the pathogen that made you sick shows similarities to Earth malaria agents, both in symptoms and behavior, or at least that’s what I got.” She got a whole lotta more, I’d bet. She’s that kind of person who silently listens and nods and soaks up everything like a sponge, only to wait until you leave and then starts looking up everything about what she just learned and filling the gaps in on her own. She very well knows what’s going on here, or at least understood the big picture.

 I _try_ not to be too impatient. “So what’s the problem?”

 She’s looking really uncomfortable now, and I really do feel sorry for that but something tells me that all of a sudden, this isn’t just about “When can I get out of here?” and turned into possibly being about “What does this mean for the rest of my life?” She shakes her head. “They can’t figure out how to treat it. So far, nothing works, and they’re now desperate enough to consider Mats’s suggestion.”

 Wait. The Doc… is a surgeon. Not an epidemiologist. If they’re considering whatever _he_ proposed, “desperate” is exactly the right term. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but… what _is_ the Doc’s suggestion?”

 Maureen makes a pained face. “Quinine.”

 Huh? “Does anyone even still _use_ that?”

 She shrugs, obviously trying to be all casual about this. “Apparently, you don’t even need a prescription to get it in Germany. So yeah, I guess _somewhere_ people are still using it.”

 I’m a little tempted to make some obligatory joke about Germans and liking big guns with lots of collateral damage but decide against it. Even if the Doc weren’t offended – and I’ve got a feeling he’d probably just roll his eyes and let me have my stupid fun – Maureen very much would be. The Doc’s her friend, and she’s protective of her friends. Better not antagonize the resident Marine. “And what’s the rest of the infirmary’s verdict on it?”

 God, she’s trying so _hard_ to be casual about this, and that more than anything tells me that this problem is more than just passing. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this, and what she tells me doesn’t make it better in any way, “Because of the severity of the side effects, they wanted to leave that choice to you. But the truth is… so far, it’s the only thing that manages to even make a dent in the lab cultures.”

 Right. The side effects. Funny enough, I already know about them. It’s been a while since I had any cause to consider them – yes, the last time _was_ back in the late Eighties, when I’d just started my service as a loan to the Agency – but yeah, I remember the litany of the Agency doctor giving us a rundown of stuff like “nausea and vomiting, kidney damage, coagulation trouble”, and that’s not even the worst. But trust me, none of that sounded as bad as what happened on that mission that landed me here. But, “The Major’s gonna go ballistic if I say yes to this, isn’t he?”

 Oh yeah, she knows he will. Because that’s what he did every time _she_ decided something on her own and didn’t run it by him first or wait for his approval. She shakes her head. “It’s not his choice to make.”

 Yeah, I know that, she knows that, _he_ probably knows that. And yet. “Still, he’s gonna go ballistic.”

 That makes her snort. “When has that _ever_ kept any of us from doing anything?”

 Yeah. That’s kind of the problem. It never did, not even once. It’s how she ended up here a year ahead of us, after all. And the one time he _didn’t_ throw a hissy fit when one of his subordinates went her own way before consulting him and thought she knew better than him where to go and what to do, it ended with that subordinate dying. God, that will _never_ stop fucking up this team, will it? “Maureen…”

 “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe I did that again.” Yeah, I’ve got a feeling it won’t be the las time, either. I can’t even be mad at her because really, it’s been over a year, we should all learn to get the fuck over it but yeah, she _is_ kinda lucky that it’s just me here, not the Major. “I’m sorry, I just…”

 “I know.” I do. I know that she’s sorry, and that she didn’t do it on purpose. It’s just that despite everything, Laura Greenspan’s death is still a sore point and probably will continue to be so for a long time. “Just don’t say that when _he’s_ around, alright?”

 That’s probably not gonna work, either. I mean, I made her promise not to give him crap about leaving Laura behind on that planet and not even a week later, she goes ballistic on him in the workout room _exactly_ for that. And she still remembers that as well as I do, judging from what she says. “I do trust you to shoot me _before_ I blurt it out. That’s what sergeants are for, after all.”

 It makes me laugh, at least a bit. It’s pretty fucked up and not a laughing matter _at all_ but that’s SGC personnel humor for you. There’s a reason why most of us never really manage to return to intact careers in the armed forces outside of the SGC and Homeworld Security. And speaking of intact careers, “It’s a deal. If you tell me just how fucked I really am.”

 Okay, that was mean. She knows, and she obviously doesn’t want to tell me. I get that. From everything she told me, the words “medical discharge” seem to be very much in the realm of possibilities, and that’s something no superior officer who actually cares about their subordinates wants to tell them. But for some reason, I’d rather hear it from her than from my _other_ superior officer. I just have a feeling that he wouldn’t be very objective and helpful about it.

 After a moment of hesitation that I don’t want to take from her, she finally says, “Honestly, so far, no one really knows. They’re still analyzing your bloodwork, testing alternatives to quinine to at least keep it in check and are researching up and down the data base to see if the Ancients encountered this before.” That’s still not an answer. “Mats also said that Command is waiting for a CliffsNotes version on the preliminary report so they can have the off-world teams on the lookout for any Pegasus natives who encountered this before and have found ways to counter it.”

 That’s _not_ what I asked. “ _Maureen_.”

 I _almost_ feel bad for her but dammit, I’m at least smart enough to know that something like this – unknown alien pathogen causing possibly lethal fever attacks and seizures out of nowhere that’s barely responding to medication – is a potential career ender. I’ve seen that happen at the SGC, _several_ times. And she has, too. “Until they come up with a treatment plan, you’re off the duty roster. Fully.” That’s almost the highest level of “fucked” you can get in an environment like Atlantis, where no one ever is really off-duty. “And no, I don’t know how long that’ll take. When they have a treatment plan, it’ll be up to Dr. Beckett to decide whether you get back on the off-world roster or not.”

 Which leaves just one question. “What if they _don’t_ find a viable treatment plan?”

 It makes her shake her head, vigorously enough that I can’t help thinking that there’s a lot of sheer denial in it. “I have no idea. But I do know one thing: you’re going to walk away from this, and you’re going to walk away from this _without_ a medical discharge.”

 Her word in God’s ear and all that. Also, “Why are you so sure about that?”

 She leans back, crossing her arms in front of her chest _almost_ looking petulant. “Because we never leave a man behind here, that’s why.”

 That again. She’s really become a _believer_ here, and I still wonder what happened in that year they were cut off from Earth that all the First Wavers have this absolutely unshakable conviction that things will sort themselves out eventually and that there won’t be casualties they _won’t_ be able to recover at some point. Because I have served in more than one command that prided themselves on “not leaving a man behind” and always ended up doing exactly that. “Look, Maureen…”

 “No. I’m not being delusional or trying to lie to myself.” I never said that. “Or you, for that matter.” I didn’t say that, either. “This is _not_ going to end with a medical discharge. Because that’s not how we do things here. And you’re one of us now.” Not really. Because no one who wasn’t here through the first year will ever truly be “one of the crew”, not in the way _they_ are part of this Expedition, this city. I’m not envious, I’m just stating a fact. I don’t need a degree in psychology to know that this is how things work in tight-knit communities like the Atlantis First Wavers.

 It’s still kind of heart-warming how one of my team’s First Wavers thinks she can raise my spirits by including me in their arcane circles, anyway. Absolutely doesn’t do anything to give me the confidence that this _isn’t_ going to end with a medical discharge, but really, I appreciate the gesture. Also, “I wish I had your confidence.”

 She gives me a pained little smile. “Yeah, me, too.”

 And that is, weirdly, the moment when I realize that so far… this has all been about me. Usually, that’s not me. I’m not _that_ guy. Would never have made Senior Master Sergeant, if I _were_ that type of guy. So yeah, let’s try deflecting and giving my head a little time off from the inevitable rounds of “Is _this_ the thing I’m going to lose my career over?”. Easiest way to do that? Don’t worry, I know just the thing. “And how are _you_?”

 She just shrugs. Dead sure sign that she’s terrible. You know, as if the dark circles under her eyes and the exhausted slump weren’t already telling enough. “That bad, huh?” She makes a resigned face, and that just serves to remind me that it hasn’t been so long since she finally started letting down her guard around me again. With a stab of regret, the thought of a looming medical discharge and the fact that I’d be leaving her behind here after not even three months back on the same team hits me. Okay, time for a change of topic yet again, this is getting both of us nowhere. “Had to yell at them often?”

 “Just once, actually.” The interesting part about this is that she said it totally matter-of-fact. As if there’s nothing unusual about the XO of a team holding enough informal authority over both the medic _and_ the team leader that they actually let her yell at them if they, once again, screw up the simple task of acting _as a team_. “I think they’re finally learning to get along with each other.”

 Yeah, sure. “Only took them three months or so.”

 She makes a benevolent face, and I’m not sure if that’s directed at me or the rest of the team. “Don’t be so hard on them. They’re trying to do their best to pretend they don’t still hate each other.”

 Mh, yeah, well. There’s just one tiny issue about that. “You do know they only play nice with each other because they don’t want you to get in their faces about it, right?” They do. I was _there_ when they decided that they could at least cooperate with each other if not actually like each other _just so she wouldn’t be mad at them_. That’s almost literally how their detente kind of thing happened back when she was on Earth.

 She gives me a dead-pan look. “They and I have a very different view of me as a person, it seems.”

 I’m almost inclined to agree, if I hadn’t seen in person just _how_ much she can get in anyone’s face when she’s really fucking mad. Pegasus really changed something in her, something that makes her say “Fuck it, I’m going to rip off that guy’s face if he keeps annoying me” at a certain point, something that probably was already there back in her time at the SGC, just buried beneath shyness and self-doubt and being so goddamn _young_. I can’t help grin a little. “You so would get in their faces if they’d refuse to get along with each other, wouldn’t you?”

 Another dead-pan look. “Only if aliens make me do it.”

 Considering what I’ve read in the mission reports archive from last year, I wouldn’t say that so loud. It might actually become true. This _is_ a very fucked up galaxy. I also can’t help smile a little at her absolute refusal to do something she, let’s all be honest here, probably already did or at least strongly considered doing. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

 “Just keep telling herself what, Sergeant?” And then there’s _this_ asshole.

 No, okay, that’s no way to talk about my boss. You know, the guy who’s been my superior officer in one or another capacity for ten years now. It’s just… the conversation with Maureen was _just_ about to veer away from difficult to light banter, _and_ I’m starting to get tired again and as long as they’re not on a mission, those two – Maureen Reece and Thomas Moore – just can’t be in the same room without things getting awkward. I was hoping it might get better over time and that they maybe just need some time to get used to each other again but hey, apparently, this is all our life now.

 I’m about to answer but Maureen beats me to it, sounding a little weary and like she might need a break herself, “Please leave him alone, sir?”

 And here we go again. Maureen antagonizes him – on my behalf, granted, but it’s still antagonizing – and he will definitely… “Sergeant’s a grown man who can speak for himself, Kid.” Okay, he actually stays matter-of-fact and only sounds a little like telling her off, while sitting down in the chair she had her feet on before I started that conversation with her and do I detect a measure of annoyance at that in her face? Or is that a general annoyance at having to deal with him again after she thought she’d gotten rid of him for the rest of the night?

 “Yes, sir.” Either way, _that_ didn’t sound acquiescing. At _all_.

 He settles in, stretching his legs in her direction and crossing his arms in front of him and it takes me until now to realize that he brought a tablet. Someone’s in for the long haul, it seems. “So, Sergeant…”

 Please leave me alone, sir. Seriously, I don’t want to be dragged into this. I want to lie here, doze a little and maybe listen to those two either giving each other the silent treatment or subtly sniping at each other until they got whatever it is today out of their system and can have a normal conversation. But _no_. I decide not to play along. “Nothing of importance, sir.”

 He grins. That smug, obnoxious grin that she happens to hate. She never actually _said_ so but she’s not exactly hard to read. She _definitely_ hates that particular grin. And I just bet he _knows_ that. “See, Kid? Dee totally can tell me himself to go fuck myself.” That’s… a pretty good translation, actually. And either it’s the late hour or the fact that I’m laid up with an as of yet mostly undetermined illness, but he sounded totally lenient about it. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing. “Also, off-duty, remember?”

 Yeah, that’s never gonna work. By now, I know that he offered her first name basis when we’re off-duty and that she steadily tries not to call him by his first name for some very complicated reason and that he just keeps needling her about it and I’m starting to wish they’d just… I don’t know, get their shit together in whatever direction it pleases them most. It’s getting annoying.

 “Never off-duty in Atlantis, remember… Tom?” Yeah, she actually _likes_ calling him by his first name. It’s still a little awkward but her voice always sounds a little softer when she says his name instead of “sir” and honestly, the degree to which I’m analyzing this is not normal. I’d love to say it’s just whatever is in those drip bags running through my veins right now but that would be lying. It’s more like a cross between watching your favorite TV show and a train wreck. _Definitely_ not healthy, for none of the parties involved. “And why are _you_ here, anyway?”

 He shrugs and pulls up his tablet. “Couldn’t sleep, decided to catch up on paperwork.” And you couldn’t do that in your quarters, is what her face says, and honestly, it is a valid question. “Thought Dee might like a little company, too.”

 She gives him the raised eyebrow. “Because I’m definitely not company enough?”

 “That’s not what I said.” Getting defensive won’t help you, sir. And don’t look to _me_. You walked right into that one, you’re a grown man, get out of it on your own. “Come on, Kid, don’t make me leave again. I promise I’ll just leave you to your Master’s stuff and not be annoying.” Much. He won’t be annoying her much.

 She still doesn’t look convinced but seems to have decided to go along with it for the time being. “Fair enough, I guess. It’s a free city, after all.”

 That makes him grin again, this time a kind of relieved grin, and I happen to have detected that _that_ is a kind of grin she likes, to the point of purposefully avoiding looking at him so she can hide her reaction from him. For _fuck’s_ sake, just get a grip on it, both of you.

 “So if _he_ gets to sit here instead of his quarters, does that mean _I_ get a pass, too?” And look who made his way back from his quarters, as well.

 Okay, I guess it was just a question of time until all of them would congregate here. I still don’t really know what happened in the three days I was out of commission but it can’t have been nice for either of them.

 Maureen is the first to answer. “Sure. _If_ you both manage to behave yourselves.”

 It’s probably supposed to be more a joke than anything else but boy, does she have some authority over both of them on this. Even now I’m not sure if she is fully conscious of how much they are willing to defer to her on matters of team dynamics and team cohesion. Their answer – a joint “Yes, ma’am.” – is probably also supposed to be meant in jest, especially the Major’s sloppy one, but I’d bet three months’ worth of salary that as long as we’re all here in this spot, both the Doc _and_ the Major will work hard not to get on each other’s nerves.

 So in the end, the Doc takes a chair on the other side of my bed, pulling out a tablet, too – probably catching up on his professional reading or maybe working on annoying all the epidemiologists, hematologists and pharmacologists on the infirmary staff at once by putting out more treatment suggestions for me – the Major slouches a little deeper in his chair and keeps tapping around on his tablet with his usual “I hate paperwork, paperwork needs to die a fiery death and go to hell” face and Maureen spreads her homework stuff half on my bed and half on the floor and weirdly, the last thing I notice before finally letting weariness and meds take over is that Maureen somehow is so engrossed in her homework that she doesn’t even think about putting her feet back on the chair opposite from her and the Major being so busy with hating paperwork that all he does is shift a little to the side to give her feet some space.

 I can’t help wondering if they even realize how much like an established couple that makes them look and the fact that _that_ is my last coherent thought before drifting off just goes to show just _how_ fucked up this team is.

 Good _God_.


End file.
